162      THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS 

son,  now  kept  her  from  acknowledging  them, 
even  for  the  gift  of  a  title  and  domain. 
There  was  only  one  question  before  her: 
should  she  stay  long  enough  to  receive  the 
proposal  of  Lord  Algernon,  and  then  decline 
it?  Why  should  she  not  snatch  that  single 
feminine  joy  out  of  the  ashes  of  her  burnt-up 
illusion?  She  knew  that  an  opportunity 
would  be  offered  that  afternoon.  The  party 
were  to  take  tea  at  Broxby  Hall,  and  Lord 
Algernon  was  to  drive  her  there  in  his  dog- 
cart. Miss  Desborough  had  gone  up  to  her 
bedroom  to  put  on  a  warmer  cloak,  and  had 
rung  twice  or  thrice  impatiently  for  her 
maid. 

When  the  girl  made  her  appearance, 
apologetic,  voluble,  and  excited,  Miss  Des- 
borough scarcely  listened  to  her  excuses, 
until  a  single  word  suddenly  arrested  her 
attention.  It  was  "old  Debs." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  said 
Sadie,  pausing  in  the  adjustment  of  her  hat 
on  her  brown  hair. 

"Old  Debs,  miss,  — that 's  what  they  call 
him;  an  old  park-keeper,  just  found  dead 
in  a  pool  of  water  in  the  fields ;  the  grand- 
father of  one  of  the  servants  here;  and 
there  's  such  an  excitement  in  the  servants' 


THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS     163 

hall.  The  gentlemen  all  knew  it,  too,  for  I 
heard  Lord  Algernon  say  that  he  was  look- 
ing very  queer  lately,  and  might  have  had 
a  fit ;  and  Lord  Beverdale  has  sent  word  to 
the  coroner.  And  only  think,  the  people 
here  are  such  fools  that  they  daren't  touch 
or  move  the  poor  man,  and  him  lyin'  there 
in  the  rain  all  the  time,  until  the  coroner 
comes! " 

Miss  Desborough  had  been  steadily  re- 
garding herself  in  the  glass  to  see  if  she  had 
turned  pale.  She  had.  She  set  her  teeth 
together  until  the  color  partly  returned. 
But  she  kept  her  face  away  from  the  maid. 
"That  '11  do,"  she  said  quietly.  "You  can 
tell  me  all  later.  I  have  some  important 
news  myself,  and  I  may  not  go  out  after  all. 
I  want  you  to  take  a  note  for  me."  She 
went  to  her  table,  wrote  a  line  in  pencil, 
folded  it,  scribbled  an  address  upon  it, 
handed  it  to  the  girl,  and  gently  pushed  her 
from  the  room. 

The  consul  was  lingering  on  the  terrace 
beside  one  of  the  carriages;  at  a  little  dis- 
tance a  groom  was  holding  the  nervous  thor- 
oughbred of  Lord  Algernon's  dog-cart.  Sud- 
denly he  felt  a  touch  on  his  shoulder,  and 


UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 
SANTA    CRUZ 


AUBREY  DRURY 


LIBRARY 

NfVER 
CALT 


STORIES  IN 
LIGHT  AND  SHADOW 


BY 


BRET  HARTE 


THE  METROPOLITAN  MAGAZINE  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1898,  Sf  BREt  HABTB 
ALL  BIGHTS  RESERVED 


PS 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

"  UNSEB  KABL  " 1 

UNCLE  JIM  AND  UNCLE  BILLY 35 

SEE  YUP 93 

THE  DESBOBOUGH  CONNECTIONS 121 

SALOMY  JANE'S  Kiss 180 

THE  MAN  AND  THE  MOUNTAIN 219 

THE  PASSING  OF  ENBIQUEZ .  244 


STOEIES  IN  LIGHT  A1STD 
SHADOW 


"UNSER  KARL" 

THE  American  consul  for  Schlachtstadt 
bad  just  turned  out  of  the  broad  Konig's 
Alice  into  the  little  square  that  held  his  con- 
sulate. Its  residences  always  seemed  to  him 
to  wear  that  singularly  uninhabited  air  pe- 
culiar to  a  street  scene  in  a  theatre.  The 
facades,  with  their  stiff,  striped  wooden  awn- 
i'ngs  over  the  windows,  were  of  the  regular- 
ity, color,  and  pattern  only  seen  on  the  stage, 
and  conversation  carried  on  in  the  street  be- 
low always  seemed  to  be  invested  with  that 
perfect  confidence  and  security  which  sur- 
rounds the  actor  in  his  painted  desert  of 
urban  perspective.  Yet  it  was  a  peaceful 
change  to  the  other  byways  and  highways 
of  Schlachtstadt  which  were  always  filled 
with  an  equally  unreal  and  mechanical  sol- 
diery, who  appeared  to  be  daily  taken  out 
of  their  boxes  of  "caserne  "  or  "de*pot "  and 


2  UNSEK  KAEL 

loosely  scattered  all  over  the  pretty  linden- 
haunted  German  town.  There  were  soldiers 
standing  on  street  corners;  soldiers  staring 
woodenly  into  shop  windows ;  soldiers  halted 
suddenly  into  stone,  like  lizards,  at  the  ap- 
proach of  Offiziere ;  Offiziere  lounging  stiffly 
four  abreast,  sweeping  the  pavement  with 
their  trailing  sabres  all  at  one  angle.  There 
were  cavalcades  of  red  hussars,  cavalcades 
of  blue  hussars,  cavalcades  of  Uhlans,  with 
glittering  lances  and  pennons  —  with  or 
without  a  band  —  formally  parading ;  there 
were  straggling  "fatigues"  or  "details" 
coming  round  the  corners ;  there  were  dusty, 
businesslike  columns  of  infantry,  going  no- 
where and  to  no  purpose.  And  they  one 
and  all  seemed  to  be  wound  up  —  for  that 
service  —  and  apparently  always  in  the  same 
place.  In  the  band  of  their  caps  —  invari- 
ably of  one  pattern  —  was  a  button,  in  the 
centre  of  which  was  a  square  opening  or  key- 
hole. The  consul  was  always  convinced 
that  through  this  keyhole  opening,  by  means 
of  a  key,  the  humblest  caporal  wound  up 
his  file,  the  Hauptmann  controlled  his  lieu- 
tenants and  non-commissioned  officers,  and 
even  the  general  himself,  wearing  the  same 
cap,  was  subject  through  his  cap  to  a  higher 


UNSEB  KAEL  3 

moving  power.  In  the  suburbs,  when  the 
supply  of  soldiers  gave  out,  there  were  sen- 
try-boxes; when  these  dropped  off,  there 
were  "caissons,"  or  commissary  wagons. 
And,  lest  the  military  idea  should  ever  fail 
from  out  the  Schlachtstadt's  burgher's  mind, 
there  were  police  in  uniform,  street-sweepers 
in  uniform;  the  ticket- takers,  guards,  and 
sweepers  at  the  Bahnhof  were  in  uniform,  — 
but  all  wearing  the  same  kind  of  cap,  with 
the  probability  of  having  been  wound  up 
freshly  each  morning  for  their  daily  work. 
Even  the  postman  delivered  peaceful  in- 
voices to  the  consul  with  his  side-arms  and 
the  air  of  bringing  dispatches  from  the  field 
of  battle;  and  the  consul  saluted,  and  felt 
for  a  few  moments  the  whole  weight  of  his 
consular  responsibility. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  this  military  precedence, 
it  did  not  seem  in  the  least  inconsistent  with 
the  decidedly  peaceful  character  of  the  town, 
and  this  again  suggested  its  utter  unreality ; 
wandering  cows  sometimes  got  mixed  up 
with  squadrons  of  cavalry,  and  did  not  seem 
to  mind  it;  sheep  passed  singly  between  files 
of  infantry,  or  preceded  them  in  a  flock 
when  on  the  march ;  indeed,  nothing  could 
be  more  delightful  and  innocent  than  to  see 


4  UNSER  KARL 

a  regiment  of  infantry  in  heavy  marching 
order,  laden  with  every  conceivable  thing 
they  could  want  for  a  week,  returning  after 
a  cheerful  search  for  an  invisible  enemy  in 
the  suburbs,  to  bivouac  peacefully  among 
the  cabbages  in  the  market-place.  Nobody 
was  ever  imposed  upon  for  a  moment  by 
their  tremendous  energy  and  severe  display ; 
drums  might  beat,  trumpets  blow,  dragoons 
charge  furiously  all  over  the  Exercier  Platz, 
or  suddenly  flash  their  naked  swords  in  the 
streets  to  the  guttural  command  of  an  offi- 
cer—  nobody  seemed  to  mind  it.  People 
glanced  up  to  recognize  Rudolf  or  Max  "  do- 
ing their  service,"  nodded,  and  went  about 
their  business.  And  although  the  officers 
always  wore  their  side-arms,  and  at  the  most 
peaceful  of  social  dinners  only  relinquished 
their  swords  in  the  hall,  apparently  that  they 
might  be  ready  to  buckle  them  on  again  and 
rush  out  to  do  battle  for  the  Fatherland  be- 
tween the  courses,  the  other  guests  only 
looked  upon  these  weapons  in  the  light  of 
sticks  and  umbrellas,  and  possessed  their 
souls  in  peace.  And  when,  added  to  this 
singular  incongruity,  many  of  these  warriors 
were  spectacled,  studious  men,  and,  despite 
their  lethal  weapons,  wore  a  slightly  profes- 


UNSER  KARL  5 

sional  air,  and  were  —  to  a  man  —  deeply 
sentimental  and  singularly  simple,  their  at- 
titude in  this  eternal  Kriegspiel  seemed  to 
the  consul  more  puzzling  than  ever. 

As  he  entered  his  consulate  he  was  con- 
fronted with  another  aspect  of  Schlachtstadt 
quite  as  wonderful,  yet  already  familiar  to 
him.  For,  in  spite  of  these  "alarums  with- 
out," which,  however,  never  seem  to  pene- 
trate beyond  the  town  itself,  Schlachtstadt 
and  its  suburbs  were  known  all  over  the 
world  for  the  manufactures  of  certain  beau- 
tiful textile  fabrics,  and  many  of  the  rank 
and  file  of  those  warriors  had  built  up  the 
fame  and  prosperity  of  the  district  over  their 
peaceful  looms  in  wayside  cottages.  There 
were  great  depots  and  counting-houses,  larger 
than  even  the  cavalry  barracks,  where  no 
other  uniform  but  that  of  the  postman  was 
known.  Hence  it  was  that  the  consul' s- 
chief  duty  was  to  uphold  the  flag  of  his  own 
country  by  the  examination  and  certification 
of  divers  invoices  sent  to  his  office  by  the 
manufacturers.  But,  oddly  enough,  these 
business  messengers  were  chiefly  women,  — 
not  clerks,  but  ordinary  household  servants, 
and,  on  busy  days,  the  consulate  might  have 
been  mistaken  for  a  female  registry  office, 


6  UNSEB  EAEL 

so  filled  and  possessed  it  was  by  waiting 
Madchen.  Here  it  was  that  Gretehen,  Lies- 
clien,  and  Clarchen,  in  the  cleanest  of  blue 
gowns,  and  stoutly  but  smartly  shod,  brought 
their  invoices  in  a  piece  of  clean  paper,  or 
folded  in  a  blue  handkerchief,  and  laid  them, 
with  fingers  more  or  less  worn  and  stubby 
from  hard  service,  before  the  consul  for  his 
signature.  Once,  in  the  case  of  a  very  young 
Madchen,  that  signature  was  blotted  by  the 
sweep  of  a  flaxen  braid  upon  it  as  the  child 
turned  to  go;  but  generally  there  was  a 
grave,  serious  business  instinct  and  sense  of 
responsibility  in  these  girls  of  ordinary  pea- 
sant origin  which,  equally  with  their  sisters 
of  France,  were  unknown  to  the  English  or 
American  woman  of  any  class. 

That  morning,  however,  there  was  a  slight 
stir  among  those  who,  with  their  knitting, 
were  waiting  their  turn  in  the  outer  office 
as  the  vice-consul  ushered  the  police  inspector 
into  the  consul's  private  office.  He  was  in 
uniform,  of  course,  and  it  took  him  a  mo- 
ment to  recover  from  his  habitual  stiff,  mili- 
tary salute,  —  a  little  stiffer  than  that  of  the 
actual  soldier. 

It  was  a  matter  of  importance !  A  stranger 
had  that  morning  been  arrested  in  the  town 


UNSER  KAEL  1 

and  identified  as  a  military  deserter.  He 
claimed  to  be  an  American  citizen;  he  was 
now  in  the  outer  office,  waiting  the  consul's 
interrogation. 

The  consul  knew,  however,  that  the  omi- 
nous accusation  had  only  a  mild  significance 
here.  The  term  "military  deserter"  in- 
cluded any  one  who  had  in  youth  emigrated 
to  a  foreign  country  without  first  fulfilling 
his  military  duty  to  his  fatherland.  His 
first  experiences  of  these  cases  had  been  te- 
dious and  difficult,  —  involving  a  reference 
to  his  Minister  at  Berlin,  a  correspondence 
with  the  American  State  Department,  a  con- 
dition of  unpleasant  tension,  and  finally  the 
prolonged  detention  of  some  innocent  Ger- 
man —  naturalized  —  American  citizen,  who 
had  forgotten  to  bring  his  papers  with  him 
in  revisiting  his  own  native  country.  It  so 
chanced,  however,  that  the  consul  enjoyed 
the  friendship  and  confidence  of  the  General 
Adlerkreutz,  who  commanded  the  20th  Di- 
vision, and  it  further  chanced  that  the  same 
Adlerkreutz  was  as  gallant  a  soldier  as  ever 
cried  Yorwarts !  at  the  head  of  his  men,  as 
profound  a  military  strategist  and  organizer 
as  ever  carried  his  own  and  his  enemy's 
plans  in  his  iron  head  and  spiked  helmet, 


8  UNSEB  KARL 

and  yet  with  as  simple  and  unaffected  a  soul 
breathing  under  his  gray  mustache  as  ever 
issued  from  the  lips  of  a  child.  So  this  grim 
but  gentle  veteran  had  arranged  with  the 
consul  that  in  cases  where  the  presumption 
of  nationality  was  strong,  although  the  evi- 
dence was  not  present,  he  would  take  the 
consul's  parole  for  the  appearance  of  the 
"deserter"  or  his  papers,  without  the  aid  o£ 
prolonged  diplomacy.  In  this  way  the  con- 
sul had  saved  to  Milwaukee  a  worthy  but 
imprudent  brewer,  and  to  New  York  an  ex- 
cellent sausage  butcher  and  possible  alder- 
man; but  had  returned  to  martial  duty  one 
or  two  tramps  or  journeymen  who  had  never 
seen  America  except  from  the  decks  of  the 
ships  in  which  they  were  "stowaways,"  and 
on  which  they  were  returned,  —  and  thus  the 
temper  and  peace  of  two  great  nations  were 
preserved. 

"He  says,"  said  the  inspector  severely, 
"that  he  is  an  American  citizen,  but  has 
lost  his  naturalization  papers.  Yet  he  has 
made  the  damaging  admission  to  others  that 
he  lived  several  years  in  Rome!  And," 
continued  the  inspector,  looking  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  closed  door  as  he  placed  his 
finger  beside  his  nose,  "he  says  he  has  rela- 


UNSEB  KAEL  » 

tions  living  at  Palmyra,  whom  he  frequently 
visited.  Ach!  Observe  this  unheard-of  - 
and-not-to-be-trusted  statement! " 

The  consul,  however,  smiled  with  a  slight 
flash  of  intelligence.  "Let  me  see  him,"  he 
said. 

They  passed  into  the  outer  office ;  another 
policeman  and  a  corporal  of  infantry  saluted 
and  rose.  In  the  centre  of  an  admiring  and 
sympathetic  crowd  of  Dienstmadchen  sat  the 
culprit,  the  least  concerned  of  the  party;  a 
stripling  —  a  boy  —  scarcely  out  of  his  teens ! 
Indeed,  it  was  impossible  to  conceive  of  a 
more  innocent,  bucolic,  and  almost  angelic 
looking  derelict.  With  a  skin  that  had  the 
peculiar  white  and  rosiness  of  fresh  pork,  he 
had  blue  eyes,  celestially  wide  open  and  star- 
ing, and  the  thick  flocculent  yellow  curls  of 
the  sun  god!  He  might  have  been  an  over- 
grown and  badly  dressed  Cupid  who  had 
innocently  wandered  from  Paphian  shores. 
He  smiled  as  the  consul  entered,  and  wiped 
from  his  full  red  lips  with  the  back  of  his 
hand  the  traces  of  a  sausage  he  was  eating. 
The  consul  recognized  the  flavor  at  once,  — 
he  had  smelled  it  before  in  Lieschen's  little 
hand-basket. 

"You  say  you  lived  at  Rome?"  began 


10  UNSER  KAEL 

the  consul  pleasantly.  "Did  you  take  out 
your  first  declaration  of  your  intention  of 
becoming  an  American  citizen  there?'* 

The  inspector  cast  an  approving  glance  at 
the  consul,  fixed  a  stern  eye  on  the  cherubic 
prisoner,  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair  to 
hear  the  reply  to  this  terrible  question. 

"I  don't  remember,"  said  the  culprit, 
knitting  his  brows  in  infantine  thought.  "  It 
was  either  there,  or  at  Madrid  or  Syracuse." 

The  inspector  was  about  to  rise ;  this  was 
really  trifling  with  the  dignity  of  the  muni- 
cipality. But  the  consul  laid  his  hand  on 
the  official's  sleeve,  and,  opening  an  Ameri- 
can atlas  to  a  map  of  the  State  of  New 
York,  said  to  the  prisoner,  as  he  placed  the 
inspector's  hand  on  the  sheet,  "I  see  you 
know  the  names  of  the  towns  on  the  Erie 
and  New  York  Central  Eailroad.  But "  — 

"I  can  tell  you  the  number  of  people  in 
each  town  and  what  are  the  manufactures," 
interrupted  the  young  fellow,  with  youthful 
vanity.  "Madrid  has  six  thousand,  and 
there  are  over  sixty  thousand  in  "  — 

"That  will  do,"  said  the  consul,  as  a  mur- 
mur of  Wunderschon !  went  round  the  group 
of  listening  servant  girls,  while  glances  of 
admiration  were  shot  at  the  beaming  accused. 


UNSEB  KARL  11 

"But  you  ought  to  remember  the  name  of 
the  town  where  your  naturalization  papers 
were  afterwards  sent." 

"  But  I  was  a  citizen  from  the  moment ; 
made  my  declaration,"  said  tne  strangei 
smiling,  and  looking  triumphantly  at  his 
admirers,  "and  I  could  vote!  " 

The  inspector,  since  he  had  come  to  grief 
over  American  geographical  nomenclature, 
was  grimly  taciturn.  The  consul,  however, 
was  by  no  means  certain  of  his  victory.  His 
alleged  fellow  citizen  was  too  encyclopaedic 
in  his  knowledge:  a  clever  youth  might 
have  crammed  for  this  with  a  textbook, 
but  then  he  did  not  look  at  all  clever;  in- 
deed7  he  had  rather  the  stupidity  of  the  my- 
thological subject  he  represented.  "Leave 
him  with  me,"  said  the  consul.  The  in- 
spector handed  him  a  precis  of  the  case. 
The  cherub's  name  was  Karl  Schwartz,  an 
orphan,  missing  from  Schlachtstadt  since 
the  age  of  twelve.  Relations  not  living,  or 
in  emigration.  Identity  established  by  pris- 
oner's admission  and  record. 

"Now,  Karl,"  said  the  consul  cheerfully, 
as  the  door  of  his  private  office  closed  upon 
them,  "what  is  your  little  game?  Have 
you  ever  had  any  papers?  And  if  you  were 


12  UNSER  KARL 

clever  enough  to  study  the  map  of  New  York 
State,  why  weren't  you  clever  enough  to  see 
that  it  would  n't  stand  you  in  place  of  your 
papers?" 

"Dot's  joost  it,"  said  Karl  in  English; 
"but  you  see  dot  if  I  haf  declairet  mine  in- 
tention of  begomming  a  citizen,  it 's  all  the 
same,  don't  it?" 

"By  no  means,  for  you  seem  to  have  no 
evidence  of  the  declaration;  no  papers  at 
all." 

"Zo!"  said  Karl.  Nevertheless,  he 
pushed  his  small,  rosy,  pickled-pig's -feet  of 
fingers  through  his  fleecy  curls  and  beamed 
pleasantly  at  the  consul.  "Dot 's  vot  's  der 
matter,"  he  said,  as  if  taking  a  kindly  inter- 
est in  some  private  trouble  of  the  consul's. 
"Dot 's  vere  you  vos,  eh?  " 

The  consul  looked  steadily  at  him  for  a 
moment.  Such  stupidity  was  by  no  means 
phenomenal,  nor  at  all  inconsistent  with  his 
appearance.  "And,"  continued  the  consul 
gravely,  "I  must  tell  you  that,  unless  you 
have  other  proofs  than  you  have  shown,  it 
will  be  my  duty  to  give  you  up  to  the  au- 
thorities." 

"  Dot  means  I  shall  serve  my  time,  eh  ?  " 
said  Karl,  with  an  unchanged  smile. 


UNSER  KARL  13 

"Exactly  so,"  returned  the  consul. 

"Zo!"  said  Karl.  "Dese  town  — dese 
Schlachtstadt  —  is  fine  town,  eh  ?  Fine  vo- 
mens.  Goot  men.  Und  beer  und  sausage. 
Blenty  to  eat  and  drink,  eh?  Und,"  look- 
ing around  the  room,  "you  and  te  poys  haf 
a  gay  times." 

"Yes,"  said  the  consul  shortly,  turning 
away.  But  he  presently  faced  round  again 
on  the  unfettered  Karl,  who  was  evidently 
indulging  in  a  gormandizing  reverie. 

"What  on  earth  brought  you  here,  any- 
way?" 

"Was  it  das?" 

"What  brought  you  here  from  America, 
or  wherever  you  ran  away  from?" 

"To  see  der  volks." 

"But  you  are  an  orphan,  you  know,  and 
you  have  no  folks  living  here." 

"  But  all  Shermany  is  mine  volks,  —  de 
whole  gountry,  don't  it?  Pet  your  poots/ 
How's  dot,  eh?" 

The  consul  turned  back  to  his  desk  and 
wrote  a  short  note  to  General  Adlerkreutz 
in  his  own  American  German.  He  did  not 
think  it  his  duty  in  the  present  case  to  inter- 
fere with  the  authorities  or  to  offer  his  parole 
for  Karl  Schwartz.  But  he  would  claim 


14  UNSER  KARL 

that,  as  the  offender  was  evidently  an  inno- 
cent emigrant  and  still  young,  any  punish- 
ment  or  military  degradation  be  omitted, 
and  he  be  allowed  to  take  his  place  like  any 
other  recruit  in  the  ranks.  If  he  might 
have  the  temerity  to  the  undoubted,  far-see- 
ing military  authority  of  suggestion  mak- 
ing here,  he  would  suggest  that  Karl  was 
for  the  commissariat  fitted !  Of  course,  he 
still  retained  the  right,  on  production  of  sat- 
isfactory proof,  his  discharge  to  claim. 

The  consul  read  this  aloud  to  Karl.  The 
cherubic  youth  smiled  and  said,  "Zo!  " 
Then,  extending  his  hand,  he  added  the 
word  "Zshake!" 

The  consul  shook  his  hand  a  little  remorse- 
fully, and,  preceding  him  to  the  outer  room, 
resigned  him  with  the  note  into  the  inspec- 
tor's hands.  A  universal  sigh  went  up  from 
the  girls,  and  glances  of  appeal  sought  the 
<eonsul;  but  he  wisely  concluded  that  it 
would  be  well,  for  a  while,  that  Karl  —  a 
helpless  orphan  —  should  be  under  some 
sort  of  discipline !  And  the  securer  business 
of  certifying  invoices  recommenced. 

Late  that  afternoon  he  received  a  folded 
bit  of  blue  paper  from  the  waistbelt  of  an 
orderly,  which  contained  in  English  charac- 


UNSER  KARL  15 

ters  and  as  a  single  word  "Alright,"  fol- 
lowed by  certain  jagged  pen-marks,  which 
he  recognized  as  Adlerkreutz's  signature. 
But  it  was  not  until  a  week  later  that  he 
learned  anything  definite.  He  was  return- 
ing one  night  to  his  lodgings  in  the  residen- 
tial part  of  the  city,  and,  in  opening  the  door 
with  his  pass-key,  perceived  in  the  rear  of 
the  hall  his  handmaiden  Trudschen,  attended 
by  the  usual  blue  or  yellow  or  red  shadow. 
He  was  passing  by  them  with  the  local 
'n*  Abend!  on  his  lips  when  the  soldier 
turned  his  face  and  saluted.  The  consul 
stopped.  It  was  the  cherub  Karl  in  uni- 
form! 

But  it  had  not  subdued  a  single  one  of 
his  characteristics.  His  hair  had  been 
cropped  a  little  more  closely  under  liis  cap, 
but  there  was  its  color  and  woolliness  still 
intact ;  his  plump  figure  was  girt  by  belt  and 
buttons,  but  he  only  looked  the  more  unreal, 
and  more  like  a  combination  of  pen-wiper 
and  pincushion,  until  his  puffy  breast  and 
shoulders  seemed  to  offer  a  positive  invita- 
tion to  any  one  who  had  picked  up  a  pin. 
But,  wonderful!  —  according  to  his  brief 
story  —  he  had  been  so  proficient  in  the 
goose  step  that  he  had  been  put  in  uniform 


16  UNSER  KARL 

already,  and  allowed  certain  small  privileges, 
—  among  them,  evidently,  the  present  one. 
The  consul  smiled  and  passed  on.  But  it 
seemed  strange  to  him  that  Trudschen,  who 
was  a  tall  strapping  girl,  exceedingly  popu= 
lar  with  the  military,  and  who  had  never 
looked  lower  than  a  corporal  at  least,  should 
accept  the  attentions  of  an  Einjahriger  like 
that.  Later  he  interrogated  her. 

Ach !  it  was  only  Unser  Karl !  And  the 
consul  knew  he  was  Amerikanisch ! 

"Indeed!" 

"Yes!     It  was  such  a  tearful  story!  " 

"Tell  me  what  it  is,"  said  the  consul,  with 
a  faint  hope  that  Karl  had  volunteered  some 
communication  of  his  past. 

"Ach  Gott!  There  in  America  he  was 
a  man,  and  could  '  vote,'  make  laws,  and, 
God  willing,  become  a  town  councilor,  — 
or  Ober  Intendant,  —  and  here  he  was  no- 
thing but  a  soldier  for  years.  And  this 
America  was  a  fine  country.  Wunderschon  I 
There  were  such  big  cities,  and  one  — 
*  Booflo  '  —  could  hold  all  Schlachtstadt, 
and  had  of  people  five  hundred  thousand!  " 

The  consul  sighed.  Karl  had  evidently 
not  yet  got  off  the  line  of  the  New  York 
Central  and  Erie  roads.  "But  does  he  re- 


UN8ER  KARL  17 

member  yet  what  he  did  with  his  papers  ?  w 
said  the  consul  persuasively. 

"  Ach !  What  does  he  want  with  papers 
when  he  could  make  the  laws?  They  were 
dumb,  stupid  things  —  these  papers  —  to 
him." 

"But  his  appetite  remains  good,  I  hope?  " 
suggested  the  consul. 

This  closed  the  conversation,  although 
Karl  came  on  many  other  nights,  and  his 
toy  figure  quite  supplanted  the  tall  corporal 
of  hussars  in  the  remote  shadows  of  the  hall. 
One  night,  however,  the  consul  returned 
home  from  a  visit  to  a  neighboring  town  a 
day  earlier  than  he  was  expected.  As  he 
neared  his  house  he  was  a  little  surprised 
to  find  the  windows  of  his  sitting-room  lit 
up,  and  that  there  were  no  signs  of  Trud- 
schen  in  the  lower  hall  or  passages.  He 
made  his  way  upstairs  in  the  dark  and  pushed 
open  the  door  of  his  apartment.  To  his  as- 
tonishment, Karl  was  sitting  comfortably  in 
his  own  chair,  his  cap  off  before  a  student- 
lamp  on  the  table,  deeply  engaged  in  appar- 
ent study.  So  profound  was  his  abstraction 
that  it  was  a  moment  before  he  looked  up, 
and  the  consul  had  a  good  look  at  his  usually 
beaming  and  responsive  face,  which,  how- 


18  UNSEB  KARL 

ever,  now  struck  him  as  wearing  a  singular 
air  of  thought  and  concentration.  When 
their  eyes  at  last  met,  he  rose  instantly  and 
saluted,  and  his  beaming  smile  returned. 
But,  either  from  his  natural  phlegm  or  ex- 
traordinary self-control,  he  betrayed  neither 
embarrassment  nor  alarm. 

The  explanation  he  gave  was  direct  and 
simple.  Trudschen  had  gone  out  with  the 
Corporal  Fritz  for  a  short  walk,  and  had 
asked  him  to  "keep  house  "  during  their  ab- 
sence. He  had  no  books,  no  papers,  nothing 
to  read  in  the  barracks,  and  no  chance  to 
improve  his  mind.  He  thought  the  Herr 
Consul  would  not  object  to  his  looking  at 
his  books.  The  consul  was  touched;  it  was 
really  a  trivial  indiscretion,  and  as  much 
Trudschen's  fault  as  Karl's!  And  if  the 
poor  fellow  had  any  mind  to  improve,  — his 
recent  attitude  certainly  suggested  thought 
and  reflection,  —  the  consul  were  a  brute  to 
reprove  him.  He  smiled  pleasantly  as  Karl 
returned  a  stubby  bit  of  pencil  and  some 
greasy  memoranda  to  his  breast  pocket,  and 
glanced  at  the  table.  But  to  his  surprise  it 
was  a  large  map  that  Karl  had  been  study- 
ing, and,  to  his  still  greater  surprise,  a  map 
of  the  consul's  own  district. 


UNSER  EARL  19 

"You  seem  to  be  fond  of  map-studying," 
said  the  consul  pleasantly.  "You  are  not 
thinking  of  emigrating  again?" 

"Ach,  no!"  said  Karl  simply;  "it  is  my 
cousine  vot  haf  lif  near  here.  I  find  her." 

But  he  left  on  Trudschen's  return,  and 
the  consul  was  surprised  to  see  that,  while 
Karl's  attitude  towards  her  had  not  changed, 
the  girl  exhibited  less  effusiveness  than  be- 
fore. Believing  it  to  be  partly  the  effect  of 
the  return  of  the  corporal,  the  consul  taxed 
her  with  faithlessness.  But  Trudschen 
looked  grave. 

"  Ah !  He  has  new  friends,  this  Karl  of 
ours.  He  cares  no  more  for  poor  girls  like 
us.  When  fine  ladies  like  the  old  Frau  von 
Wimpfel  make  much  of  him,  what  will 
you?" 

It  appeared,  indeed,  from  Trudschen's  ac- 
count, that  the  widow  of  a  wealthy  shop- 
keeper had  made  a  kind  of  protege  of  the 
young  soldier,  and  given  him  presents.  Fur- 
thermore, that  the  wife  of  his  colonel  had 
employed  him  to  act  as  page  or  attendant  at 
an  afternoon  Gesellschaft,  and  that  since 
then  the  wives  of  other  officers  had  sought 
him.  Did  not  the  Herr  Consul  think  it  was 
dreadful  that  this  American,  who  could  vote 


20  UNSER  KAEL 

and  make  laws,  should  be  subjected  to  such 
things  ? 

The  consul  did  not  know  what  to  think. 
It  seemed  to  him,  however,  that  Karl  was 
"getting  on,"  and  that  he  was  not  in  need 
of  his  assistance.  It  was  in  the  expectation 
of  hearing  more  about  him,  however,  that 
he  cheerfully  accepted  an  invitation  from 
Adlerkreutz  to  dine  at  the  Caserne  one  even- 
ing with  the  staff.  Here  he  found,  some- 
what to  his  embarrassment,  that  the  dinner 
was  partly  in  his  own  honor,  and  at  the  close 
of  five  courses,  and  the  emptying  of  many 
bottles,  his  health  was  proposed  by  the  gal- 
lant veteran  Adlerkreutz  in  a  neat  address 
of  many  syllables  containing  all  the  parts  of 
speech  and  a  single  verb.  It  was  to  the  effect 
that  in  his  soul-friend  the  Herr  Consul  and 
himself  was  the  never-to-be-severed  union 
of  Germania  and  Columbia,  and  in  their 
perfect  understanding  was  the  war-defying 
alliance  cf  two  great  nations,  and  that  in  the 
consul's  noble  restoration  of  Unser  Karl  to 
the  German  army  there  was  the  astute  di- 
plomacy of  a  great  mind.  He  was  satisfied 
that  himself  and  the  Herr  Consul  still  united 
in  the  great  future,  looking  down  upon  a 
common  brotherhood, — the  great  Germanic- 


UNSER  KARL  21 

American  Confederation,  —  would  feel  sat- 
isfied with  themselves  and  each  other  and 
their  never  -  to  -  be  -  forgotten  earth  -  labors. 
Cries  of  "Hoch!  Hoch !  "  resounded  through 
the  apartment  with  the  grinding  roll  of 
heavy-bottomed  beer-glasses,  and  the  con- 
sul, tremulous  with  emotion  and  a  reserve 
verb  in  his  pocket,  rose  to  reply.  Fully 
embarked  upon  this  perilous  voyage,  and 
steering  wide  and  clear  of  any  treacherous 
shore  of  intelligence  or  fancied  harbor  of 
understanding  and  rest,  he  kept  boldly  out 
at  sea.  He  said  that,  while  his  loving  ad- 
versary in  this  battle  of  compliment  had  dis- 
armed him  and  left  him  no  words  to  reply 
to  his  generous  panegyric,  he  could  not  but 
join  with  that  gallant  soldier  in  his  heartfelt 
aspirations  for  the  peaceful  alliance  of  both 
countries.  But  while  he  fully  reciprocated 
all  his  host's  broader  and  higher  sentiments, 
he  must  point  out  to  this  gallant  assembly, 
this  glorious  brotherhood,  that  even  a  greater 
tie  of  sympathy  knitted  him  to  the  general, 
—  the  tie  of  kinship !  For  while  it  was  well 
known  to  the  present  company  that  their 
gallant  commander  had  married  an  English- 
woman, he,  the  consul,  although  always  an 
American,  would  now  for  the  first  time  con- 


22  UNSER  KARL 

fess  to  them  that  he  himself  was  of  Dutch 
descent  on  his  mother's  side!  He  would 
say  no  more,  but  confidently  leave  them  in 
possession  of  the  tremendous  significance  of 
this  until-then-unknown  fact !  He  sat  down, 
with  the  forgotten  verb  still  in  his  pocket, 
but  the  applause  that  followed  this  perfectly 
conclusive,  satisfying,  and  logical  climax 
convinced  him  of  his  success.  His  hand 
was  grasped  eagerly  by  successive  warriors; 
the  general  turned  and  embraced  him  before 
the  breathless  assembly ;  there  were  tears  in 
the  consul's  eyes. 

As  the  festivities  progressed,  however,  he 
found  to  his  surprise  that  Karl  had  not  only 
become  the  fashion  as  a  military  page,  but 
that  his  nai've  stupidity  and  sublime  simpli- 
city was  the  wondering  theme  and  inexhaus- 
tible delight  of  the  whole  barracks.  Stories 
were  told  of  his  genius  for  blundering  which 
rivaled  Handy  Andy's;  old  stories  of  fatu- 
ous ignorance  were  rearranged  and  fitted  to 
"our  Karl."  It  was  "our  Karl"  who,  on 
receiving  a  tip  of  two  marks  from  the  hands 
of  a  young  lady  to  whom  he  had  brought 
the  bouquet  of  a  gallant  lieutenant,  exhib- 
ited some  hesitation,  and  finally  said,  "  Yes, 
but,  gnadiges  Fraulein,  that  cost  us  nine 


UNSER  KARL  23 

marks!"  It  was  "our  Karl"  who,  inter- 
rupting the  regrets  of  another  lady  that  she 
was  unable  to  accept  his  master's  invitation, 
said  politely,  "  Ah !  what  matter,  Gnadigste  ? 
I  have  still  a  letter  for  Fraulein  Kopp  [her 
rival],  and  I  was  told  that  I  must  not  invite 
you  both."  It  was  "our  Karl"  who  aston- 
ished the  hostess  to  whom  he  was  sent  at 
the  last  moment  with  apologies  from  an  offi- 
cer, unexpectedly  detained  at  barrack  duty, 
by  suggesting  that  he  should  bring  that  un- 
fortunate officer  his  dinner  from  the  just 
served  table.  Nor  were  these  charming  in- 
felicities confined  to  his  social  and  domestic 
service.  Although  ready,  mechanical,  and 
invariably  docile  in  the  manual  and  physical 
duties  of  a  soldier,  —  which  endeared  him  to 
the  German  drill-master,  —  he  was  still  in- 
vincibly ignorant  as  to  its  purport,  or  even 
the  meaning  and  structure  of  the  military 
instruments  he  handled  or  vacantly  looked 
upon.  It  was  "our  Karl"  who  suggested 
to  his  instructors  that  in  field-firing  it  was 
quicker  and  easier  to  load  his  musket  to  the 
muzzle  at  once,  and  get  rid  of  its  death-deal- 
ing contents  at  a  single  discharge,  than  to 
load  and  fire  consecutively.  It  was  "our 
Karl"  who  nearly  killed  the  instructor  at 


24  UNSER  KARL 

sentry  drill  by  adhering  to  the  letter  of  his 
instructions  when  that  instructor  had  forgot- 
ten the  password.  It  was  the  same  Karl 
who,  severely  admonished  for  his  reckless- 
ness, the  next  time  added  to  his  challenge 
the  precaution,  "Unless  you  instantly  say 
'Fatherland7  I'll  fire!"  Yet  his  perfect 
good  humor  and  childlike  curiosity  were 
unmistakable  throughout,  and  incited  his 
comrades  and  his  superiors  to  show  him 
everything  in  the  hope  of  getting  some  char- 
acteristic comment  from  him.  Everything 
and  everybody  were  open  to  Karl  and  his 
good-humored  simplicity. 

That  evening,  as  the  general  accompanied 
the  consul  down  to  the  gateway  and  the 
waiting  carriage,  a  figure  in  uniform  ran 
spontaneously  before  them  and  shouted 
"Heraus!"  to  the  sentries.  But  the  gen- 
eral promptly  checked  "the  turning  out"  of 
the  guard  with  a  paternal  shake  of  his  finger 
to  the  over-zealous  soldier,  in  whom  the  con- 
sul recognized  Karl.  "He  is  my  Bursche 
now,"  said  the  general  explanatorily.  "My 
wife  has  taken  a  fancy  to  him.  Ach !  he  is 
very  popular  with  these  women."  The  con- 
sul was  still  more  surprised.  The  Frau 
Generalin  Adlerkreutz  he  knew  to  be  a  pro- 


UNSEK  KARL  25 

nounced  Englishwoman,  —  carrying  out  her 
English  ways,  proprieties,  and  prejudices  in 
the  very  heart  of  Schlachtstadt,  uncompro- 
misingly, without  fear  and  without  reproach. 
That  she  should  follow  a  merely  foreign  so- 
ciety craze,  or  alter  her  English  household 
so  as  to  admit  the  impossible  Karl,  struck 
him  oddly. 

A  month  or  two  elapsed  without  further 
news  of  Karl,  when  one  afternoon  he  sud- 
denly turned  up  at  the  consulate.  He  had 
again  sought  the  consular  quiet  to  write  a 
few  letters  home;  he  had  no  chance  in  the 
confinement  of  the  barracks. 

"But  by  this  time  you  must  be  in  the 
family  of  a  field-marshal,  at  least,"  sug- 
gested the  consul  pleasantly. 

"Not  to-day,  but  next  week,"  said  Karl, 
with  sublime  simplicity;  "then  I  am  going 
to  serve  with  the  governor  commandant  of 
Kheinfestung." 

The  consul  smiled,  motioned  him  to  a 
seat  at  a  table  in  the  outer  office,  and  left 
him  undisturbed  to  his  correspondence. 

Returning  later,  he  found  Karl,  his  let- 
ters finished,  gazing  with  childish  curiosity 
and  admiration  at  some  thick  official  envel- 
opes., bearing  the  stamp  of  the  consulate, 


26  UNSER  EARL 

which  were  lying  on  the  table.  He  was  evi« 
dently  struck  with  the  contrast  between  them 
and  the  thin,  flimsy  affairs  he  was  holding 
in  his  hand.  He  appeared  still  more  im- 
pressed when  the  consul  told  him  what  they 
were. 

"Are  you  writing  to  your  friends?"  con- 
tinued the  consul,  touched  by  his  simplicity. 

"Ach  ja!  "  said  Karl  eagerly. 

"  Would  you  like  to  put  your  letter  in  one 
of  these  envelopes?  "  continued  the  official. 

The  beaming  face  and  eyes  of  Karl  were 
a  sufficient  answer.  After  all,  it  was  a 
small  favor  granted  to  this  odd  waif,  who 
seemed  to  still  cling  to  the  consular  protec- 
tion. He  handed  him  the  envelope  and  left 
him  addressing  it  in  boyish  pride. 

It  was  Karl's  last  visit  to  the  consulate. 
He  appeared  to  have  spoken  truly,  and  the 
consul  presently  learned  that  he  had  indeed 
been  transferred,  through  some  high  official 
manipulation,  to  the  personal  service  of  the 
governor  of  Rheinfestung.  There  was  weep- 
ing among  the  Dienstmadchen  of  Schlacht- 
stadt,  and  a  distinct  loss  of  originality  and 
lightness  in  the  gatherings  of  the  gentler 
Hausfrauen.  His  memory  still  survived  in 
the  barracks  through  the  later  editions  of 


UNSER  KAEL  27 

bis  former  delightful  stupidities,  —  many  of 
them,  it  is  to  be  feared,  were  inventions,  — - 
and  stories  that  were  supposed  to  have  come 
from  Rheinfestung  were  described  in  the 
slang  of  the  Offiziere  as  being  "colossal." 
But  the  consul  remembered  Rheinfestung, 
and  could  not  imagine  it  as  a  home  for  Karl, 
or  in  any  way  fostering  his  peculiar  quali- 
ties. For  it  was  eminently  a  fortress  of  for- 
tresses, a  magazine  of  magazines,  a  depot  of 
depots.  It  was  the  key  of  the  Rhine,  the 
citadel  of  Westphalia,  the  "Clapham  Junc- 
tion "  of  German  railways,  but  defended, 
fortified,  encompassed,  and  controlled  by  the 
newest  as  well  as  the  oldest  devices  of  mili- 
tary strategy  and  science.  Even  in  the  pip- 
ingest  time  of  peace,  whole  railway  trains 
went  into  it  like  a  rat  in  a  trap,  and  might 
have  never  come  out  of  it;  it  stretched  out 
an  inviting  hand  and  arm  across  the  river 
that  might  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  be 
changed  into  a  closed  fist  of  menace.  You 
"defiled"  into  it,  commanded  at  every  step 
by  enfilading  walls;  you  "debouched"  out 
of  it,  as  you  thought,  and  found  yourself 
only  before  the  walls;  you  "reentered"  ifc 
at  every  possible  angle ;  you  did  everything 
apparently  but  pass  through  it.  You  thought 


28  UNSEE  KAEL 

yourself  well  out  of  it,  and  were  stopped  by 
a  bastion.  Its  circumvallations  haunted 
you  until  you  came  to  the  next  station.  It 
had  pressed  even  the  current  of  the  river 
into  its  defensive  service.  There  were  se- 
crets of  its  foundations  and  mines  that  only 
the  highest  military  despots  knew  and  kept 
to  themselves.  In  a  word  —  it  was  impreg- 
nable. 

That  such  a  place  could  not  be  trifled  with 
or  misunderstood  in  its  right-and-acute-an- 
gled  severities  seemed  plain  to  every  one. 
But  set  on  by  his  companions,  who  were 
showing  him  its  defensive  foundations,  or  in 
his  own  idle  curiosity,  Karl  managed  to  fall 
into  the  Rhine  and  was  fished  out  with  diffi- 
culty. The  immersion  may  have  chilled  his 
military  ardor  or  soured  his  good  humor, 
for  later  the  consul  heard  that  he  had  visited 
the  American  consular  agent  at  an  adjacent 
town  with  the  old  story  of  his  American  citi- 
zenship. "He  seemed,"  said  the  consul's 
colleague,  "to  be  well  posted  about  Ameri- 
can railways  and  American  towns,  but  he 
had  no  papers.  He  lounged  around  the 
office  for  a  while  and  "  — 

"Wrote  letters  home?"  suggested  the 
consul,  with  a  flash  of  reminiscence. 


UNSEE  KARL  29 

"Yes,  the  poor  chap  had  no  privacy  at 
the  barracks,  and  I  reckon  was  overlooked 
or  bedeviled." 

This  was  the  last  the  consul  heard  of  Karl 
Schwartz  directly;  for  a  week  or  two  later 
he  again  fell  into  the  Rhine,  this  time  so 
fatally  and  effectually  that  in  spite  of  the 
efforts  of  his  companions  he  was  swept  away 
by  the  rapid  current,  and  thus  ended  his 
service  to  his  country.  His  body  was  never 
recovered. 

A  few  months  before  the  consul  was  trans- 
ferred from  Schlachtstadt  to  another  post  his 
memory  of  the  departed  Karl  was  revived 
by  a  visit  from  Adlerkreutz.  The  general 
looked  grave. 

"You  remember  Unser  Karl?"  he  said. 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  think  he  was  an  impostor?" 

"As  regards  his  American  citizenship, 
yes!  But  I  could  not  say  more." 

"So!  "  said  the  general.  "A  very  singu- 
lar thing  has  happened,"  he  added,  twirling 
his  mustache.  "The  inspector  of  police 
has  notified  us  of  the  arrival  of  a  Karl 
Schwartz  in  this  town.  It  appears  he  is  the 
real  Karl  Schwartz,  identified  by  his  sister 
as  the  only  one.  The  other,  who  was 
drowned,  was  an  impostor.  Hein?  " 


30  UNSER  KARL 

"Then  you  have  secured  another  recruit?  " 
said  the  consul  smilingly. 

"No.  For  this  one  has  already  served 
his  time  in  Elsass,  where  he  went  when  he 
left  here  as  a  boy.  But,  Donnerwetter, 
why  should  that  dumb  fool  take  his  name  ?  " 

"By  chance,  I  fancy.  Then  he  stupidly 
stuck  to  it,  and  had  to  take  the  responsibili- 
ties with  it.  Don't  you  see?"  said  the  con- 
sul, pleased  with  his  own  cleverness. 

"Zo-o!"  said  the  general  slowly,  in  his 
deepest  voice.  But  the  German  exclama- 
tion has  a  variety  of  significance,  according 
to  the  inflection,  and  Adlerkreutz's  ejacula- 
tion seemed  to  contain  them  all. 

It  was  in  Paris,  where  the  consul  had  lin- 
gered on  his  way  to  his  new  post.  He  was 
sitting  in  a  well-known  cafe,  among  whose 
habitues  were  several  military  officers  of 
high  rank.  A  group  of  them  were  gathered 
round  a  table  near  him.  He  was  idly  watch- 
ing them  with  an  odd  recollection  of  Schlacht- 
stadt  in  his  mind,  and  as  idly  glancing  from 
them  to  the  more  attractive  Boulevard  with- 
out. The  consul  was  getting  a  little  tired 
of  soldiers. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  slight  stir  in  the 


UNSER  KARL  31 

gesticulating  group  and  a  cry  of  greeting. 
The  consul  looked  up  mechanically,  and  then 
his  eyes  remained  fixed  and  staring  at  the 
newcomer.  For  it  was  the  dead  Karl ;  Karl, 
surely !  Karl !  —  his  plump  figure  belted  in 
a  French  officer's  tunic;  his  flaxen  hair 
clipped  a  little  closer,  but  still  its  fleece 
showing  under  his  kepi.  Karl,  his  cheeks 
more  cherubic  than  ever  —  unchanged  but 
for  a  tiny  yellow  toy  mustache  curling  up 
over  the  corners  of  his  full  lips.  Karl, 
beaming  at  his  companions  in  his  old  way, 
but  rattling  off  French  vivacities  without 
the  faintest  trace  of  accent.  Could  he  be 
mistaken?  Was  it  some  phenomenal  re- 
semblance, or  had  the  soul  of  the  German 
private  been  transmigrated  to  the  French 
officer. 

The  consul  hurriedly  called  the  garqon. 
"Who  is  that  officer  who  has  just  arrived?  " 

"It  is  the  Captain  Christian,  of  the  In- 
telligence Bureau,"  said  the  waiter,  with 
proud  alacrity.  "A  famous  officer,  brave 
as  a  rabbit,  —  un  fier  lapin,  —  and  one  of  our 
best  clients.  So  drole,  too,  such  &  farceur 
and  mimic.  M'sieur  would  be  ravished  to 
hear  his  imitations." 

"But  he  looks  like  a  German;  and  his 
name! " 


32  UNSER  KARL 

"Ah,  he  is  from  Alsace.  But  not  a  Ger- 
man !  "  said  the  waiter,  absolutely  whitening 
with  indignation.  "He  was  at  Belfort. 
So  was  I.  Mon  Dieu!  No,  a  thousand 
times  no ! " 

"But  has  he  been  living  here  long?  "  said 
the  consul. 

"In  Paris,  a  few  months.  But  his  De- 
partment, M'sieur  understands,  takes  him 
everywhere  !  Everywhere  where  he  can  gain 
information." 

The  consul's  eyes  were  still  on  the  Cap- 
tain Christian.  Presently  the  officer,  per- 
haps instinctively  conscious  of  the  scrutiny, 
looked  towards  him.  Their  eyes  met.  To 
the  consul's  surprise,  the  ci-devant  Karl 
beamed  upon  him,  and  advanced  with  out- 
stretched hand. 

But  the  consul  stiffened  slightly,  and  re- 
mained so  with  his  glass  in  his  hand.  At 
which  Captain  Christian  brought  his  own 
easily  to  a  military  salute,  and  said  po- 
litely:— 

"Monsieur  le  Consul  has  been  promoted 
from  his  post.  Permit  me  to  congratulate 
him." 

"You  have  heard,  then?"  said  the  consul 
dryly. 


UNSEE  KAEL 
" 


Otherwise  I  should  not  presume.  For 
our  Department  makes  it  a  business  —  in 
Monsieur  le  Consul's  case  it  becomes  a  plea- 
sure —  to  know  everything." 

"Did  your  Department  know  that  the 
real  Karl  Schwartz  has  returned?  "  said  the 
consul  dryly. 

Captain  Christian  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"Then  it  appears  that  the  sham  Karl  died 
none  too  soon,"  he  said  lightly.  "And  yet  " 
—  he  bent  his  eyes  with  mischievous  re- 
proach upon  the  consul. 

"  Yet  what  ?  "  demanded  the  consul  sternly. 

"  Monsieur  le  Consul  might  have  saved  the 
unfortunate  man  by  accepting  him  as  an 
American  citizen  and  not  helping  to  force 
him  into  the  German  service." 

The  consul  saw  in  a  flash  the  full  military 
significance  of  this  logic,  and  could  not  re- 
press a  smile.  At  which  Captain  Christian 
dropped  easily  into  a  chair  beside  him,  and 
as  easily  into  broken  German  English  :  — 

"Und,"  he  went  on,  "dees  town  —  dees 
Schlachtstadt  is  fine  town,  eh?  Fine  wo- 
mens  ?  Goot  men  ?  Und  peer  and  sausage  ? 
Blenty  to  eat  and  trink,  eh  ?  Und  you  und 
te  poys  haf  a  gay  times?  " 

The  consul  tried  to  recover  his  dignity, 


84  UNSER  KAEL 

The  waiter  behind  him,  recognizing  only 
the  delightful  mimicry  of  this  adorable  offi- 
cer, was  in  fits  of  laughter.  Nevertheless, 
the  consul  managed  to  say  dryly :  — 

"And  the  barracks,  the  magazines,  the 
commissariat,  the  details,  the  reserves  of 
Schlachtstadt  were  very  interesting?  " 

"Assuredly." 

"  And  Rheinf  estung  —  its  plans  —  its  de- 
tails, even  its  dangerous  foundations  by  the 
river — they  were  to  a  soldier  singularly  in- 
structive?" 

"You  have  reason  to  say  so,"  said  Cap- 
tain Christian,  curling  his  little  mustache. 

"And  the  fortress  —  you  think?  " 

"  Impr  enable !     Mais  "  — 

The  consul  remembered  General  Adler- 
kreutz's  "Zo-o,"  and  wondered. 


UNCLE  JIM  AND  UNCLE  BILLY 

THEY  were  partners.  The  avuncular  title 
was  bestowed  on  them  by  Cedar  Camp,  pos- 
sibly in  recognition  of  a  certain  matured 
good  humor,  quite  distinct  from  the  spas- 
modic exuberant  spirits  of  its  other  mem- 
bers, and  possibly  from  what,  to  its  youth- 
ful sense,  seemed  their  advanced  ages  — 
which  must  have  been  at  least  forty !  They 
had  also  set  habits  even  in  their  improvi- 
dence, lost  incalculable  and  unpayable  sums 
to  each  other  over  euchre  regularly  every 
evening,  and  inspected  their  sluice-boxes 
punctually  every  Saturday  for  repairs  — 
which  they  never  made.  They  even  got  to 
resemble  each  other,  after  the  fashion  of 
old  married  couples,  or,  rather,  as  in  matri- 
monial partnerships,  were  subject  to  the  dom- 
ination of  the  stronger  character;  although 
in  their  case  it  is  to  be  feared  that  it  was 
the  feminine  Uncle  Billy  —  enthusiastic,  im- 
aginative, and  loquacious  —  who  swayed  the 
masculine,  steady-going,  and  practical  Un- 


36       UNCLE  JIM  AND    UNCLE  BILLY 

cle  Jim.  They  had  lived  in  the  camp  since 
its  foundation  in  1849;  there  seemed  to  be 
no  reason  why  they  should  not  remain  there 
until  its  inevitable  evolution  into  a  mining- 
town.  The  younger  members  might  leave 
through  restless  ambition  or  a  desire  for 
change  or  novelty;  they  were  subject  to  no 
such  trifling  mutation.  Yet  Cedar  Camp 
was  surprised  one  day  to  hear  that  Uncle 
Billy  was  going  away. 

The  rain  was  softly  falling  on  the  bark 
thatch  of  the  cabin  with  a  muffled  murmur, 
like  a  sound  heard  through  sleep.  The 
southwest  trades  were  warm  even  at  that 
altitude,  as  the  open  door  testified,  although 
a  fire  of  pine  bark  was  flickering  on  the 
adobe  hearth  and  striking  out  answering 
fires  from  the  freshly  scoured  culinary  uten- 
sils on  the  rude  sideboard,  which  Uncle  Jim 
had  cleaned  that  morning  with  his  usual  se- 
rious persistency.  Their  best  clothes,  which 
were  interchangeable  and  worn  alternately 
by  each  other  on  festal  occasions,  hung  on 
the  walls,  which  were  covered  with  a  coarse 
sailcloth  canvas  instead  of  lath-and-plaster, 
and  were  diversified  by  pictures  from  illus- 
trated papers  and  stains  from  the  exterior 
weather.  Two  "bunks,"  like  ships'  berths. 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       37 

—  an  upper  and  lower  one,  —  occupied  the 
gable-end  of  this  single  apartment,  and  on 
beds  of  coarse  sacking,  filled  with  dry  moss, 
were  carefully  rolled  their  respective  blan- 
kets and  pillows.  They  were  the  only  arti- 
cles not  used  in  common,  and  whose  indi- 
viduality was  respected. 

Uncle  Jim,  who  had  been  sitting  before 
the  fire,  rose  as  the  square  bulk  of  his  part- 
ner appeared  at  the  doorway  with  an  armful 
of  wood  for  the  evening  stove.  By  that 
sign  he  knew  it  was  nine  o'clock:  for  the 
last  six  years  Uncle  Billy  had  regularly 
brought  in  the  wood  at  that  hour,  and  Uncle 
Jim  had  as  regularly  closed  the  door  after 
him,  and  set  out  their  single  table,  contain- 
ing a  greasy  pack  of  cards  taken  from  its 
drawer,  a  bottle  of  whiskey,  and  two  tin 
drinking-cups.  To  this  was  added  a  ragged 
memorandum -book  and  a  stick  of  pencil. 
The  two  men  drew  their  stools  to  the  table. 

"Hoi'  on  a  minit,"  said  Uncle  Billy. 

His  partner  laid  down  the  cards  as  Uncle 
Billy  extracted  from  his  pocket  a  pill-box, 
and,  opening  it,  gravely  took  a  pill.  This 
was  clearly  an  innovation  on  their  regular 
proceedings,  for  Uncle  Billy  was  always  in 
perfect  health. 


38        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

"What's  this  for?"  asked  Uncle  Jim 
half  scornfully. 

"Agin  ager." 

"You  ain't  got  no  ager,"  said  Uncle  Jim, 
with  the  assurance  of  intimate  cognizance 
of  his  partner's  physical  condition. 

"  But  it 's  a  pow'ful  preventive !  Quinine  I 
Saw  this  box  at  Riley's  store,  and  laid  out 
a  quarter  on  it.  We  kin  keep  it  here,  com- 
fortable, for  evenings.  It 's  mighty  soothin' 
arter  a  man  's  done  a  hard  day's  work  on  the 
river-bar.  Take  one." 

Uncle  Jim  gravely  took  a  pill  and  swal- 
lowed it,  and  handed  the  box  back  to  his 
partner. 

"We'll  leave  it  on  the  table,  sociable 
like,  in  case  any  of  the  boys  come  in,"  said 
Uncle  Billy,  taking  up  the  cards.  "Well. 
How  do  we  stand?" 

Uncle  Jim  consulted  the  memorandum- 
book.  "You  were  owin'  me  sixty-two  thou- 
sand dollars  on  the  last  game,  and  the  limit 's 
seventy -five  thousand!  " 

"  Je  whillikins!  "  ejaculated  Uncle  Billy. 
"Let  me  see." 

He  examined  the  book,  feebly  attempted 
to  challenge  the  additions,  but  with  no  effect 
on  the  total.  "We  oughter  hev  made  the 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       39 

limit  a  hundred  thousand,"  he  said  seriously; 
"seventy-five  thousand  is  only  triflin'  in  a 
game  like  ours.  And  you  've  set  down  my 
claim  at  Angel's?  "  he  continued. 

"I  allowed  you  ten  thousand  dollars  for 
that,"  said  Uncle  Jim,  with  equal  gravity, 
"and  it 's  a  fancy  price  too." 

The  claim  in  question  being  an  unpro- 
spected  hillside  ten  miles  distant,  which  Un- 
cle Jim  had  never  seen,  and  Uncle  Billy  had 
not  visited  for  years,  the  statement  was  prob- 
ably true;  nevertheless,  Uncle  Billy  re- 
torted :  — 

"Ye  kin  never  tell  how  these  things  will 
pan  out.  Why,  only  this  mornin'  I  was 
taking  a  turn  round  Shot  Up  Hill,  that  ye 
know  is  just  rotten  with  quartz  and  gold, 
and  I  couldn't  help  thinkin'  how  much  it 
was  like  my  ole  claim  at  Angel's.  I  must 
take  a  day  off  to  go  on  there  and  strike  a 
pick  in  it,  if  only  for  luck." 

Suddenly  he  paused  and  said,  "Strange, 
ain't  it,  you  should  speak  of  it  to-night? 
Now  I  call  that  queer!  " 

He  laid  down  his  cards  and  gazed  myste- 
riously at  his  companion.  Uncle  Jim  knew 
perfectly  that  Uncle  Billy  had  regularly  once 
a  week  for  many  years  declared  his  final 


40        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

determination  to  go  over  to  Angel's  and 
prospect  his  claim,  yet  nevertheless  he  half 
responded  to  his  partner's  suggestion  of 
mystery,  and  a  look  of  fatuous  wonder  crept 
into  his  eyes.  But  he  contented  himself  by 
saying  cautiously,  "You  spoke  of  it  first." 

"That 's  the  more  sing'lar,"  said  Uncle 
Billy  confidently.  "And  I  've  been  think- 
ing about  it,  and  kinder  seeing  myself  thar 
all  day.  It 's  mighty  queer!  "  He  got  up 
and  began  to  rummage  among  some  torn 
and  coverless  books  in  the  corner. 

"Where  's  that  4  Dream  Book '  gone  to?  " 

"The  Carson  boys  borrowed  it,"  replied 
Uncle  Jim.  "Anyhow,  yours  wasn't  no 
dream  —  only  a  kind  o'  vision,  and  the  book 
don't  take  no  stock  in  visions."  Neverthe- 
less, he  watched  his  partner  with  some  sym- 
pathy, and  added,  "That  reminds  me  that  I 
Lad  a  dream  the  other  night  of  being  in 
'Frisco  at  a  small  hotel,  with  heaps  o' 
money,  and  all  the  time  being  sort  o'  scared 
and  bewildered  over  it." 

"No?"  queried  his  partner  eagerly  yet 
reproachfully.  "You  never  let  on  anything 
about  it  to  me  I  It 's  mighty  queer  you  hav- 
in'  these  strange  feelin's,  for  I  've  had 
'em  myself.  And  only  to-night,  comin'  up 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       41 

from  the  spring,  I  saw  two  crows  hopping 
in  the  trail,  and  I  says,  '  If  I  see  another, 
it 's  luck,  sure !  '  And  you  '11  think  I  'm 
lyin',  but  when  I  went  to  the  wood-pile  just 
now  there  was  the  third  one  sittin'  up  on  a 
log  as  plain  as  I  see  you.  Tell  'e  what  folks 
ken  laugh  —  but  that 's  just  what  Jim  Filgee 
saw  the  night  before  he  made  the  big  strike !  " 

They  were  both  smiling,  yet  with  an  un- 
derlying credulity  and  seriousness  as  singu- 
larly pathetic  as  it  seemed  incongruous  to 
their  years  and  intelligence.  Small  wonder, 
however,  that  in  their  occupation  and  envi- 
ronment —  living  daily  in  an  atmosphere  of 
hope,  expectation,  and  chance,  looking  for- 
ward each  morning  to  the  blind  stroke  of  a 
pick  that  might  bring  fortune  —  they  should 
see  signs  in  nature  and  hear  mystic  voices 
in  the  trackless  woods  that  surrounded  them. 
Still  less  strange  that  they  were  peculiarly 
susceptible  to  the  more  recognized  diversions 
of  chance,  and  were  gamblers  on  the  turning 
of  a  card  who  trusted  to  the  revelation  of  a 
shovelful  of  upturned  earth. 

It  was  quite  natural,  therefore,  that  they 
should  return  from  their  abstract  form  of 
divination  to  the  table  and  their  cards.  But 
they  were  scarcely  seated  before  they  heard 


42        UNCLE  JIM  AND    UNCLE  BILLY 

a  crackling  step  in  the  brush  outside,  and 
the  free  latch  of  their  door  was  lifted.  A 
younger  member  of  the  camp  entered.  He 
uttered  a  peevish  "Halloo!"  which  might 
have  passed  for  a  greeting,  or  might  have 
been  a  slight  protest  at  finding  the  door 
closed,  drew  the  stool  from  which  Uncle  Jim 
had  just  risen  before  the  fire,  shook  his  wet 
clothes  like  a  Newfoundland  dog,  and  sat 
down.  Yet  he  was  by  no  means  churlish 
nor  coarse-looking,  and  this  act  was  rather 
one  of  easy-going,  selfish,  youthful  familiar- 
ity than  of  rudeness.  The  cabin  of  Uncles 
Billy  and  Jim  was  considered  a  public  right 
or  "common"  of  the  camp.  Conferences 
between  individual  miners  were  appointed 
there.  "I'll  meet  you  at  Uncle  Billy's" 
was  a  common  tryst.  Added  to  this  was  a 
tacit  claim  upon  the  partners'  arbitrative 
powers,  or  the  equal  right  to  request  them 
to  step  outside  if  the  interviews  were  of  a 
private  nature.  Yet  there  was  never  any 
objection  on  the  part  of  the  partners,  and 
to-night  there  was  not  a  shadow  of  resent- 
ment of  this  intrusion  in  the  patient,  good- 
humored,  tolerant  eyes  of  Uncles  Jim  and 
Billy  as  they  gazed  at  their  guest.  Perhaps 
there  was  a  slight  gleam  of  relief  in  Uncle 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       43 

Jim's  when  he  found  that  the  guest  was  un- 
accompanied by  any  one,  and  that  it  was 
not  a  tryst.  It  would  have  been  unpleasant 
for  the  two  partners  to  have  stayed  out  in 
the  rain  while  their  guests  were  exchanging 
private  confidences  in  their  cabin.  While 
there  might  have  been  no  limit  to  their  good 
will,  there  might  have  been  some  to  their 
capacity  for  exposure. 

Uncle  Jim  drew  a  huge  log  from  beside 
the  hearth  and  sat  on  the  driest  end  of  it, 
while  their  guest  occupied  the  stool.  The 
young  man,  without  turning  away  from  his 
discontented,  peevish  brooding  over  the  fire, 
vaguely  reached  backward  for  the  whiskey- 
bottle  and  Uncle  Billy's  tin  cup,  to  which 
he  was  assisted  by  the  latter 's  hospitable 
hand.  But  on  setting  down  the  cup  his  eye 
caught  sight  of  the  pill-box. 

"Wot's  that?"  he  said,  with  gloomy 
scorn.  "  Rat  poison  ?  " 

"Quinine  pills  —  agin  ager,"  said  Uncle 
Jim.  "The  newest  thing  out.  Keeps  out 
damp  like  In  j  in -rubber !  Take  one  to  follow 
yer  whiskey.  Me  and  Uncle  Billy  would  n't 
think  o'  settin'  down,  quiet  like,  in  the  even- 
ing arter  work,  without  'em.  Take  one  — • 
ye  V  welcome!  We  keep  'em  out  here  for 
the  boys." 


44        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

Accustomed  as  the  partners  were  to  adopt 
and  wear  each  other's  opinions  before  folks, 
as  they  did  each  other's  clothing,  Uncle 
Billy  was,  nevertheless,  astonished  and  de- 
lighted at  Uncle  Jim's  enthusiasm  over  his 
pills.  The  guest  took  one  and  swallowed  it. 

"Mighty  bitter!  "  he  said,  glancing  at  his 
hosts  with  the  quick  Californian  suspicion 
of  some  practical  joke.  But  the  honest  faces 
of  the  partners  reassured  him. 

"That  bitterness  ye  taste,"  said  Uncle 
Jim  quickly,  "is  whar  the  thing  's  gittin'  in 
its  work.  Sorter  sickenin'  the  malaria  — 
and  kinder  water-proofin'  the  insides  all  to 
onct  and  at  the  same  lick!  Don't  yer  see? 
Put  another  in  yer  vest  pocket;  you'll  be 
cry  in'  for  'em  like  a  child  afore  ye  get  home. 
Thar!  Well,  how's  things  agoin'  on  your 
claim,  Dick?  Boomin',  eh?" 

The  guest  raised  his  head  and  turned  it 
sufficiently  to  fling  his  answer  back  over  his 
shoulder  at  his  hosts.  "I  don't  know  what 
you  'd  call '  boomin','  " he  said  gloomily ;  "I 
suppose  you  two  men  sitting  here  comfort- 
ably by  the  fire,  without  caring  whether 
school  keeps  or  not,  would  call  two  feet  of 
backwater  over  one's  claim  'boomin';'  I 
reckon  you  'd  consider  a  hundred  and  fifty 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       45 

feet  of  sluicing  carried  away,  and  drifting 
to  thunder  down  the  South  Fork,  something 
in  the  way  of  advertising  to  your  old  camp' 
I  suppose  you  'd  think  it  was  an  inducement 
to  investors!  I  shouldn't  wonder,"  he 
added  still  more  gloomily,  as  a  sudden  dash 
of  rain  down  the  wide-throated  chimney 
dropped  in  his  tin  cup  —  "  and  it  would  be 
just  like  you  two  chaps,  sittin'  there  gor- 
mandizing over  your  quinine  —  if  yer  said 
this  rain  that 's  lasted  three  weeks  was  some- 
thing to  be  proud  of !  " 

It  was  the  cheerful  and  the  satisfying  cus- 
tom of  the  rest  of  the  camp,  for  no  reason 
whatever,  to  hold  Uncle  Jim  and  Uncle 
Billy  responsible  for  its  present  location,  its 
vicissitudes,  the  weather,  or  any  convulsion 
of  nature;  and  it  was  equally  the  partners' 
habit,  for  no  reason  whatever,  to  accept 
these  animadversions  and  apologize. 

"It 's  a  rain  that 's  soft  and  mellowm'," 
said  Uncle  Billy  gently,  "and  supplin'  to 
the  sinews  and  muscles.  Did  ye  ever  no- 
tice, Jim  "  —  ostentatiously  to  his  partner  — 
"did  ye  ever  notice  that  you  get  inter  a 
kind  o'  sweaty  lather  workin'  in  it?  Sorter 
openin'  to  the  pores!  " 

"Fetches  'em  every  time,"  said  Uncle 
Billy.  "Better  nor  fancy  soap." 


46        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

Their  guest  laughed  bitterly.  "Well, 
I  'm  going  to  leave  it  to  you.  I  reckon  to 
cut  the  whole  concern  to-morrow,  and  '  lite  ' 
out  for  something  new.  It  can't  be  worse 
than  this." 

The  two  partners  looked  grieved,  albeit 
they  were  accustomed  to  these  outbursts. 
Everybody  who  thought  of  going  away  from 
Cedar  Camp  used  it  first  as  a  threat  to  these 
patient  men,  after  the  fashion  of  runaway 
nephews,  or  made  an  exemplary  scene  of 
their  going. 

"Better  think  twice  afore  ye  go,"  said 
Uncle  Billy. 

"I  've  seen  worse  weather  afore  ye  came," 
said  Uncle  Jim  slowly.  "Water  all  over 
the  Bar;  the  mud  so  deep  ye  couldn't  get 
to  Angel's  for  a  sack  o'  flour,  and  we  had 
to  grub  on  pine  nuts  and  jackass-rabbits. 
And  yet  —  we  stuck  by  the  camp,  and  here 
we  are ! " 

The  mild  answer  apparently  goaded  their 
guest  to  fury.  He  rose  from  his  seat,  threw 
back  his  long  dripping  hair  from  his  hand- 
some but  querulous  face,  and  scattered  a 
few  drops  on  the  partners.  "Yes,  that's 
just  it.  That 's  what  gets  me!  Here  you 
stick,  and  here  you  are !  And  here  you  'U 


UNCLE  JIN  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       47 

stick  and  rust  until  you  starve  or  drown  1 
Here  you  are,  —  two  men  who  ought  to  be 
out  in  the  world,  playing  your  part  as  grown 
men,  —  stuck  here  like  children  '  playing 
house  '  in  the  woods ;  playing  work  in  your 
wretched  mud  -  pie  ditches,  and  content. 
Two  men  not  so  old  that  you  mightn't  be 
taking  your  part  in  the  fun  of  the  world, 
going  to  balls  or  theatres,  or  paying  atten- 
tion to  girls,  and  yet  old  enough  to  have 
married  and  have  your  families  around  you, 
content  to  stay  in  this  God-forsaken  place; 
old  bachelors,  pigging  together  like  poor- 
house  paupers.  That 's  what  gets  me!  Say 
you  like  it?  Say  you  expect  by  hanging  on 
to  make  a  strike  —  and  what  does  that 
amount  to  ?  What  are  your  chances  ?  How 
many  of  us  have  made,  or  are  making,  more 
than  grub  wages  ?  Say  you  're  willing  to 
share  and  share  alike  as  you  do  —  have  you 
got  enough  for  two?  Aren't  you  actually 
living  off  each  other?  Are  n't  you  grinding 
each  other  down,  choking  each  other's  strug- 
gles, as  you  sink  together  deeper  and  deeper 
in  the  mud  of  this  cussed  camp  ?  And  while 
you  're  doing  this,  are  n't  you,  by  your  age 
and  position  here,  holding  out  hopes  to  oth- 
ers that  you  know  cannot  be  fulfilled?  " 


48        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

Accustomed  as  they  were  to  the  half -queru- 
lous, half -humorous,  but  always  extravagant, 
criticism  of  the  others,  there  was  something 
so  new  in  this  arraignment  of  themselves 
that  the  partners  for  a  moment  sat  silent. 
There  was  a  slight  flush  on  Uncle  Billy's 
cheek,  there  was  a  slight  paleness  on  Uncle 
Jim's.  He  was  the  first  to  reply.  But  he 
did  so  with  a  certain  dignity  which  neither 
his  partner  nor  their  guest  had  ever  seen  on 
his  face  before. 

"As  it's  our  fire  that's  warmed  ye  up 
like  this,  Dick  Bullen,"  he  said,  slowly  ris- 
ing, with  his  hand  resting  on  Uncle  Billy's 
shoulder,  "and  as  it 's  our  whiskey  that 's 
loosened  your  tongue,  I  reckon  we  must  put 
up  with  what  ye  V  saying,  just  as  we  've 
managed  to  put  up  with  our  own  way  o'  liv- 
ing, and  not  quo '11  with  ye  under  our  own 
roof." 

The  young  fellow  saw  the  change  in  Uncle 
Jim's  face  and  quickly  extended  his  hand, 
with  an  apologetic  backward  shake  of  his 
long  hair.  "Hang  it  all,  old  man,"  he  said, 
with  a  laugh  of  mingled  contrition  and  amuse- 
ment, "you  mustn't  mind  what  I  said  just 
now.  I  've  been  so  worried  thinking  of 
things  about  myself,  and,  maybe,  a  little 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       49 

about  you,  that  I  quite  forgot  I  had  n't  a  call 
to  preach  to  anybody  —  least  of  all  to  you. 
So  we  part  friends,  Uncle  Jim,  and  you  too, 
Uncle  Billy,  and  you  '11  forget  what  I  said. 
In  fact,  I  don't  know  why  I  spoke  at  all  — 
only  I  was  passing  your  claim  just  now,  and 
wondering  how  much  longer  your  old  sluice  - 
boxes  would  hold  out,  and  where  in  thun- 
der you  'd  get  others  when  they  caved  in ! 
I  reckon  that  sent  me  off.  That 's  all,  old 
chap!" 

Uncle  Billy's  face  broke  into  a  beaming 
smile  of  relief,  and  it  was  his  hand  that  first 
grasped  his  guest's;  Uncle  Jim  quickly  fol- 
lowed with  as  honest  a  pressure,  but  with 
eyes  that  did  not  seem  to  be  looking  at  Bul- 
len,  though  all  trace  of  resentment  had  died 
out  of  them.  He  walked  to  the  door  with 
him,  again  shook  hands,  but  remained  look- 
ing out  in  the  darkness  some  time  after  Dick 
Bullen's  tangled  hair  and  broad  shoulders 
had  disappeared. 

Meantime,  Uncle  Billy  had  resumed  his 
seat  and  was  chuckling  and  reminiscent  as 
he  cleaned  out  his  pipe. 

"Kinder  reminds  me  of  Jo  Sharp,  when 
he  was  cleaned  out  at  poker  by  his  own 
partners  in  his  own  cabin,  comin'  up  here 


50        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

and  bedevilin'  us  about  it!  What  was  it 
you  lint  him  ?  " 

But  Uncle  Jim  did  not  reply;  and  Uncle 
Billy,  taking  up  the  cards,  began  to  shuffle 
them,  smiling  vaguely,  yet  at  the  same  time 
somewhat  painfully.  "  Arter  all,  Dick  was 
mighty  cut  up  about  what  he  said,  and  I 
felt  kinder  sorry  for  him.  And,  you  know, 
I  rather  cotton  to  a  man  that  speaks  his 
mind.  Sorter  clears  him  out,  you  know,  of 
all  the  slumgullion  that 's  in  him.  It 's  just 
like  washin'  out  a  pan  o'  prospecting:  you 
pour  in  the  water,  and  keep  slushing  it 
round  and  round,  and  out  conies  first  the 
mud  and  dirt,  and  then  the  gravel,  and  then 
the  black  sand,  and  then  —  it 's  all  out,  and 
there  's  a  speck  o'  gold  glistenin'  at  the  bot- 
tom!" 

"Then  you  think  there  was  suthin'  in 
what  he  said?"  said  Uncle  Jim,  facing 
about  slowly. 

An  odd  tone  in  his  voice  made  Uncle  Billy 
look  up.  "No,"  he  said  quickly,  shying 
with  the  instinct  of  an  easy  pleasure -loving 
nature  from  a  possible  grave  situation.  "  No, 
I  don't  think  he  ever  got  the  color!  But 
wot  are  ye  moonin'  about  for?  Ain't  ye 
goin'  to  play?  It 's  mor'  'n  half  past  nine 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       51 

Thus  adjured,  Uncle  Jim  moved  up  to 
the  table  and  sat  down,  while  Uncle  Billy 
dealt  the  cards,  turning  up  the  Jack  or  right 
bower  —  but  without  that  exclamation  of 
delight  which  always  accompanied  his  good 
fortune,  nor  did  Uncle  Jim  respond  with 
the  usual  corresponding  simulation  of  deep 
disgust.  Such  a  circumstance  had  not  oc- 
curred before  in  the  history  of  their  part- 
nership. They  both  played  in  silence  —  a 
silence  only  interrupted  by  a  larger  splash 
of  raindrops  down  the  chimney. 

"  We  orter  put  a  couple  of  stones  on  the 
chimney-top,  edgewise,  like  Jack  Curtis 
does.  It  keeps  out  the  rain  without  inter- 
ferin'  with  the  draft,"  said  Uncle  Billy 
musingly. 

"What's  the  use  if"  — 

"If  what?"  said  Uncle  Billy  quietly. 

"If  we  don't  make  it  broader,"  said  Uncle 
Jim  half  wearily. 

They  both  stared  at  the  chimney,  but 
Uncle  Jim's  eye  followed  the  wall  around  to 
the  bunks.  There  were  many  discolorations 
on  the  canvas,  and  a  picture  of  the  Goddess 
of  Liberty  from  an  illustrated  paper  had 
broken  out  in  a  kind  of  damp,  measly  erup- 
tion. "I  '11  stick  that  funny  handbill  of  the 


52        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

'  Washin'  Soda '  I  got  at  the  grocery  store 
the  other  day  right  over  the  Liberty  gal. 
It 's  a  mighty  perty  woman  washin'  with 
short  sleeves,"  said  Uncle  Billy.  "That's 
the  comfort  of  them  picters,  you  kin  always 
get  somethin'  new,  and  it  adds  thickness  to 
the  wall." 

Uncle  Jim  went  back  to  the  cards  in  si- 
lence. After  a  moment  he  rose  again,  and 
hung  his  overcoat  against  the  door. 

"Wind  's  comin'  in,"  he  said  briefly. 

"Yes,"  said  Uncle  Billy  cheerfully,  "but 
it  wouldn't  seem  nat'ral  if  there  wasn't 
that  crack  in  the  door  to  let  the  sunlight  in 
o'  mornin's.  Makes  a  kind  o'  sundial,  you 
know.  When  the  streak  o'  light 's  in  that 
corner,  I  says  '  six  o'clock !  '  when  it 's  across 
the  chimney  I  say  '  seven !  '  and  so  't  is !  " 

It  certainly  had  grown  chilly,  and  the 
wind  was  rising.  The  candle  guttered  and 
flickered;  the  embers  on  the  hearth  bright- 
ened occasionally,  as  if  trying  to  dispel  the 
gathering  shadows,  but  always  ineffectually. 
The  game  was  frequently  interrupted  by  the 
necessity  of  stirring  the  fire.  After  an  in- 
terval of  gloom,  in  which  each  partner  suc- 
cessively drew  the  candle  to  his  side  to  ex- 
amine his  cards,  Uncle  Jim  said :  — 

"Say?" 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       5S 

"Well!  "  responded  Uncle  Billy. 

"Are  you  sure  you  saw  that  third  crow 
on  the  wood-pile?  " 

"  Sure  as  I  see  you  now  —  and  a  darned 
sight  plainer.  Why  ?  " 

"Nothin',  I  was  just  thinkin'.  Look 
here !  How  do  we  stand  now  ?  " 

Uncle  Billy  was  still  losing.  "  Neverthe- 
less," he  said  cheerfully,  "I  'm  owin'  you  a 
matter  of  sixty  thousand  dollars." 

Uncle  Jim  examined  the  book  abstract- 
edly. "Suppose,"  he  said  slowly,  but  with- 
out looking  at  his  partner,  "suppose,  as  it 's 
gettin'  late  now,  we  play  for  my  half  share 
of  the  claim  agin  the  limit  —  seventy  thou- 
sand—  to  square  up." 

"Your  half  share !  "  repeated  Uncle  Billy, 
with  amused  incredulity. 

"  My  half  share  of  the  claim,  —  of  this  yer 
house,  you  know,  —  one  half  of  all  that  Dick 
Bullen  calls  our  rotten  starvation  property," 
reiterated  Uncle  Jim,  with  a  half  smile. 

Uncle  Billy  laughed.  It  was  a  novel 
idea;  it  was,  of  course,  "all  in  the  air,"  like 
the  rest  of  their  game,  yet  even  then  he  had 
an  odd  feeling  that  he  wovdd  have  liked  Dick 
Bullen  to  have  known  it.  "Wade  in,  old 
pard,"  he  said.  "I  'm  on  it." 


54        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

Uncle  Jim  lit  another  candle  to  reinforce 
the  fading  light,  and  the  deal  fell  to  Uncle 
Billy.  He  turned  up  Jack  of  clubs.  He 
also  turned  a  little  redder  as  he  took  up  his 
cards,  looked  at  them,  and  glanced  hastily 
at  his  partner.  "It 's  no  use  playing,"  he 
said.  "Look  here!"  He  laid  down  his 
cards  on  the  table.  They  were  the  ace, 
king  and  queen  of  clubs,  and  Jack  of  spades, 
• —  or  left  bower,  —  which,  with  the  turned- 
up  Jack  of  clubs,  —  or  right  bower,  —  com- 
prised all  the  winning  cards ! 

"By  jingo!  If  we'd  been  playin'  four- 
handed,  say  you  an'  me  agin  some  other 
ducks,  we  'd  have  made  '  four  '  in  that  deal, 
and  h'isted  some  money  —  eh?"  and  his 
eyes  sparkled.  Uncle  Jim,  also,  had  a  slight 
tremulous  light  in  his  own. 

"Oh  no!  I  didn't  see  no  three  crows 
this  afternoon,"  added  Uncle  Billy  glee- 
fully, as  his  partner,  in  turn,  began  to  shuffle 
the  cards  with  laborious  and  conscientious 
exactitude.  Then  dealing,  he  turned  up  a 
heart  for  trumps.  Uncle  Billy  took  up  his 
cards  one  by  one,  but  when  he  had  finished 
his  face  had  become  as  pale  as  it  had  been 
red  before.  "What's  the  matter?"  said 
Uncle  Jim  quickly,  his  own  face  growing 
white. 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       55 

Uncle  Billy  slowly  and  with  breathless 
awe  laid  down  his  cards,  face  up  on  the 
table.  It  was  exactly  the  same  sequence  in 
hearts,  with  the  knave  of  diamonds  added. 
He  could  again  take  every  trick. 

They  stared  at  each  other  with  vacant 
faces  and  a  half -drawn  smile  of  fear.  They 
could  hear  the  wind  moaning  in  the  trees 
beyond ;  there  was  a  sudden  rattling  at  the 
door.  Uncle  Billy  started  to  his  feet,  but 
Uncle  Jim  caught  his  arm.  "Don't  leave 
the  cards!  It 's  only  the  wind;  sit  down," 
he  said  in  a  low  awe-hushed  voice,  "it's 
your  deal;  you  were  two  before,  and  two 
now,  that  makes  your  four;  you've  only 
one  point  to  make  to  win  the  game.  Go 
on." 

They  both  poured  out  a  cup  of  whiskey, 
smiling  vaguely,  yet  with  a  certain  terror  in 
their  eyes.  Their  hands  were  cold;  the 
cards  slipped  from  Uncle  Billy's  benumbed 
fingers ;  when  he  had  shuffled  them  he  passed 
them  to  his  partner  to  shuffle  them  also,  but 
did  not  speak.  When  Uncle  Jim  had  shuf- 
fled them  methodically  he  handed  them  back 
fatefully  to  his  partner.  Uncle  Billy  dealt 
them  with  a  trembling  hand.  He  turned  up 
a  club.  "If  you  are  sure  of  these  tricks 


56        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

you  know  you  've  won,"  said  Uncle  Jim  in 
a  voice  that  was  scarcely  audible.  Uncle 
Billy  did  not  reply,  but  tremulously  laid 
down  the  ace  and  right  and  left  bowers. 

He  had  won ! 

A  feeling  of  relief  came  over  each,  and 
they  laughed  hysterically  and  discordantly. 
Kidiculous  and  childish  as  their  contest 
might  have  seemed  to  a  looker-on,  to  each 
the  tension  had  been  as  great  as  that  of  the 
greatest  gambler,  without  the  gambler's 
trained  restraint,  coolness,  and  composure. 
Uncle  Billy  nervously  took  up  the  cards 
again. 

"Don't,"  said  Uncle  Jim  gravely;  "it's 
no  use  —  the  luck  's  gone  now." 

"Just  one  more  deal,"  pleaded  his  part- 
ner. 

Uncle  Jim  looked  at  the  fire,  Uncle  Billy 
hastily  dealt,  and  threw  the  two  hands  face 
up  on  the  table.  They  were  the  ordinary 
average  cards.  He  dealt  again,  with  the 
same  result.  "I  told  you  so,"  said  Uncle 
Jim,  without  looking  up. 

It  certainly  seemed  a  tame  performance 
after  their  wonderful  hands,  and  after  an- 
other trial  Uncle  Billy  threw  the  cards  aside 
and  drew  his  stool  before  the  fire.  "  Mighty 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       57 

queer,  warn't  it?"  he  said,  with  reminis- 
cent awe.  "Three  times  running.  Do  you 
know,  I  felt  a  kind  o'  creepy  feelin'  down 
my  back  all  the  time.  Criky !  what  luck ! 
None  of  the  boys  would  believe  it  if  we  told 
'em  —  least  of  all  that  Dick  Bullen,  who 
don't  believe  in  luck,  anyway.  Wonder 
what  he  'd  have  said !  and,  Lord !  how  he  'd 
have  looked!  Wall!  what  are  you  starin' 
so  for?  " 

Uncle  Jim  had  faced  around,  and  was 
gazing  at  Uncle  Billy's  good-humored,  sim- 
ple face.  "Nothin'!"  he  said  briefly,  and 
his  eyes  again  sought  the  fire. 

"Then  don't  look  as  if  you  was  seein' 
suthin'  — you  give  me  the  creeps,"  returned 
Unole  Billy  a  little  petulantly.  "Let  's 
turn  in,  afore  the  fire  goes  out!  " 

The  fateful  cards  were  put  back  into  the 
drawer,  the  table  shoved  against  the  wall. 
The  operation  of  undressing  was  quickly  got 
over,  the  clothes  they  wore  being  put  on  top 
of  their  blankets.  Uncle  Billy  yawned,  "I 
wonder  what  kind  of  a  dream  I  '11  have  to- 
night —  it  oughter  be  suthin'  to  explain  that 
luck."  This  was  his  "good-night"  to  his 
partner.  In  a  few  moments  he  was  sound 
asleep. 


58        "UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

Not  so  Uncle  Jim.  He  heard  the  wind 
gradually  go  down,  and  in  the  oppressive 
silence  that  followed  could  detect  the  deep 
breathing  of  his  companion  and  the  far-off 
yelp  of  a  coyote.  His  eyesight  becoming 
accustomed  to  the  semi-darkness,  broken 
only  by  the  scintillation  of  the  dying  embers 
of  their  fire,  he  could  take  in  every  detail 
of  their  sordid  cabin  and  the  rude  environ- 
ment in  which  they  had  lived  so  long.  The 
dismal  patches  on  the  bark  roof,  the  wretched 
makeshifts  of  each  day,  the  dreary  prolon- 
gation of  discomfort,  were  all  plain  to  him 
now,  without  the  sanguine  hope  that  had 
made  them  bearable.  And  when  he  shut 
his  eyes  upon  them,  it  was  only  to  travel  in 
fancy  down  the  steep  mountain  side  that  he 
had  trodden  so  often  to  the  dreary  claim  on 
the  overflowed  river,  to  the  heaps  of  "tail- 
ings "  that  encumbered  it,  like  empty  shells 
of  the  hollow,  profitless  days  spent  there, 
which  they  were  always  waiting  for  the  stroke 
of  good  fortune  to  clear  away.  He  saw  again 
the  rotten  "sluicing,"  through  whose  hope- 
less rifts  and  holes  even  their  scant  daily 
earnings  had  become  scantier.  At  last  he 
arose,  and  with  infinite  gentleness  let  him- 
«elf  down  from  his  berth  without  disturbing 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       59 

his  sleeping  partner,  and  wrapping  himself 
in  his  blanket,  went  to  the  door,  which  hr 
noiselessly  opened.  From  the  position  of  {•• 
few  stars  that  were  glittering  in  the  northern 
sky  he  knew  that  it  was  yet  scarcely  mid- 
night; there  were  still  long,  restless  hours 
before  the  day!  In  the  feverish  state  into 
which  he  had  gradually  worked  himself  it 
seemed  to  him  impossible  to  wait  the  coming 
of  the  dawn. 

But  he  was  mistaken.  For  even  as  he 
stood  there  all  nature  seemed  to  invade  his 
humble  cabin  with  its  free  and  fragrant 
breath,  and  invest  him  with  its  great  com- 
panionship. He  felt  again,  in  that  breath, 
that  strange  sense  of  freedom,  that  mystic 
touch  of  partnership  with  the  birds  and 
beasts,  the  shrubs  and  trees,  in  this  greater 
home  before  him.  It  was  this  vague  com- 
munion that  had  kept  him  there,  that  still 
held  these  world-sick,  weary  workers  in 
their  rude  cabins  on  the  slopes  around  him ; 
and  he  felt  upon  his  brow  that  balm  that 
had  nightly  lulled  him  and  them  to  sleep 
and  forgetfulness.  He  closed  the  door, 
turned  away,  crept  as  noiselessly  as  before 
into  his  bunk  again,  and  presently  fell  into 
a  profound  slumber. 


60        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

But  when  Uncle  Billy  awoke  the  next 
morning  he  saw  it  was  late;  for  the  sun, 
piercing  the  crack  of  the  closed  door,  was 
sending  a  pencil  of  light  across  the  cold 
hearth,  like  a  match  to  rekindle  its  dead 
embers.  His  first  thought  was  of  his  strange 
luck  the  night  before,  and  of  disappointment 
that  he  had  not  had  the  dream  of  divination 
that  he  had  looked  for.  He  sprang  to  the 
floor,  but  as  he  stood  upright  his  glance  fell 
on  Uncle  Jim's  bunk.  It  was  empty.  Not 
only  that,  but  his  blankets  —  Uncle  Jim's 
own  particular  blankets  —  were  gone  ! 

A  sudden  revelation  of  his  partner's  man- 
ner the  night  before  struck  him  now  with 
the  cruelty  of  a  blow ;  a  sudden  intelligence, 
perhaps  the  very  divination  he  had  sought, 
flashed  upon  him  like  lightning!  He 
glanced  wildly  around  the  cabin.  The  table 
was  drawn  out  from  the  wall  a  little  ostenta- 
tiously, as  if  to  catch  his  eye.  On  it  was 
lying  the  stained  chamois-skin  purse  in 
which  they  had  kept  the  few  grains  of  gold 
remaining  from  their  last  week's  "clean 
up."  The  grains  had  been  carefully  di- 
vided, and  half  had  been  taken !  But  near 
it  lay  the  little  memorandum-book,  open, 
with  the  stick  of  pencil  lying  across  it.  A 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       61 

deep  line  was  drawn  across  the  page  on  which 
was  recorded  their  imaginary  extravagant 
gains  and  losses,  even  to  the  entry  of  Uncle 
Jim's  half  share  of  the  claim  which  he  had 
risked  and  lost !  Underneath  were  hurriedly 
scrawled  the  words :  — 

"Settled  by  your  luck,  last  night,  old 
pard. — JAMES  FOSTER." 

It  was  nearly  a  month  before  Cedar  Camp 
was  convinced  that  Uncle  Billy  and  Uncle 
Jim  had  dissolved  partnership.  Pride  had 
prevented  Uncle  Billy  from  revealing  his 
suspicions  of  the  truth,  or  of  relating  the 
events  that  preceded  Uncle  Jim's  clandestine 
flight,  and  Dick  Bullen  had  gone  to  Sacra- 
mento by  stage-coach  the  same  morning. 
He  briefly  gave  out  that  his  partner  had 
been  called  to  San  Francisco  on  important 
business  of  their  own,  that  indeed  might  ne- 
cessitate his  own  removal  there  later.  In 
this  he  was  singularly  assisted  by  a  letter 
from  the  absent  Jim,  dated  at  San  Fran- 
cisco, begging  him  not  to  be  anxious  about 
his  success,  as  he  had  hopes  of  presently 
entering  into  a  profitable  business,  but  with 
no  further  allusions  to  his  precipitate  depar- 
ture, nor  any  suggestion  of  a  reason  for  it. 


62      UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

For  two  or  three  days  Uncle  Billy  was  stag- 
gered and  bewildered;  in  his  profound  sim- 
plicity he  wondered  if  his  extraordinary  good 
fortune  that  night  had  made  him  deaf  to 
some  explanation  of  his  partner's,  or,  more 
terrible,  if  he  had  shown  some  "low"  and 
incredible  intimation  of  taking  his  partner's 
extravagant  bet  as  real  and  binding.  In 
this  distress  he  wrote  to  Uncle  Jim  an  ap- 
pealing and  apologetic  letter,  albeit  some- 
what incoherent  and  inaccurate,  and  bris- 
tling with  misspelling,  camp  slang,  and  old 
partnership  jibes.  But  to  this  elaborate 
epistle  he  received  only  Uncle  Jim's  re- 
peated assurances  of  his  own  bright  pro- 
spects, and  his  hopes  that  his  old  partner 
would  be  more  fortunate,  single-handed,  on 
the  old  claim.  For  a  whole  week  or  two 
Uncle  Billy  sulked,  but  his  invincible  op- 
timism and  good  humor  got  the  better  of 
him,  and  he  thought  only  of  his  old  partner's 
j*ood  fortune.  He  wrote  him  regularly,  but 
r-always  to  one  address  —  a  box  at  the  San 
Francisco  post-office,  which  to  the  simple- 
minded  Uncle  Billy  suggested  a  certain  offi- 
cial importance.  To  these  letters  Uncle 
Jim  responded  regularly  but  briefly. 

From  a  certain  intuitive  pride  in  his  part- 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       63 

ner  and  his  affection,  Uncle  Billy  did  not 
show  these  letters  openly  to  the  camp,  al- 
though he  spoke  freely  of  his  former  part- 
ner's promising  future,  and  even  read  them 
short  extracts.  It  is  needless  to  say  that 
the  camp  did  not  accept  Uncle  Billy's  story 
with  unsuspecting  confidence.  On  the  con- 
trary, a  hundred  surmises,  humorous  or  se- 
rious, but  always  extravagant,  were  afloat 
in  Cedar  Camp.  The  partners  had  quar- 
reled over  their  clothes  —  Uncle  Jim,  who 
was  taller  than  Uncle  Billy,  had  refused  to 
wear  his  partner's  trousers.  They  had  quar- 
reled over  cards  —  Uncle  Jim  had  discov- 
ered that  Uncle  Billy  was  in  possession  of 
a  "cold  deck,"  or  marked  pack.  They  had 
quarreled  over  Uncle  Billy's  carelessness  in 
grinding  up  half  a  box  of  "bilious  pills  "  in 
the  morning's  coffee.  A  gloomily  imagina- 
tive mule-driver  had  darkly  suggested  that, 
as  no  one  had  really  seen  Uncle  Jim  leave 
the  camp,  he  was  still  there,  and  his  bones 
would  yet  be  found  in  one  of  the  ditches; 
while  a  still  more  credulous  miner  averred 
that  what  he  had  thought  was  the  cry  of  a 
screech-owl  the  night  previous  to  Uncle 
Jim's  disappearance,  might  have  been  the 
agonized  utterance  of  that  murdered  man. 


64        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

It  was  highly  characteristic  of  that  camp  — . 
and,  indeed,  of  others  in  California  —  that 
nobody,  not  even  the  ingenious  theorists 
themselves,  believed  their  story,  and  that 
no  one  took  the  slightest  pains  to  verify  or 
disprove  it.  Happily,  Uncle  Billy  never 
knew  it,  and  moved  all  unconsciously  in  this 
atmosphere  of  burlesque  suspicion.  And 
then  a  singular  change  took  place  in  the  at- 
titude of  the  camp  towards  him  and  the  dis- 
rupted partnership.  Hitherto,  for  no  rea- 
son whatever,  all  had  agreed  to  put  the  blame 
upon  Billy  —  possibly  because  he  was  pre- 
sent to  receive  it.  As  days  passed  that 
slight  reticence  and  dejection  in  his  manner, 
which  they  had  at  first  attributed  to  remorse 
and  a  guilty  conscience,  now  began  to  tell 
as  absurdly  in  his  favor.  Here  was  poor 
Uncle  Billy  toiling  through  the  ditches, 
while  his  selfish  partner  was  lolling  in  the 
lap  of  luxury  in  San  Francisco!  Uncle 
Billy's  glowing  accounts  of  Uncle  Jim's  suc- 
cess only  contributed  to  the  sympathy  now 
fully  given  in  his  behalf  and  their  execration 
of  the  absconding  partner.  It  was  proposed 
at  Biggs 's  store  that  a  letter  expressing  the 
indignation  of  the  camp  over  his  heartless 
conduct  to  his  late  partner,  William  Fall, 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       65 

should  be  forwarded  to  him.  Condolences 
were  offered  to  Uncle  Billy,  and  uncouth 
attempts  were  made  to  cheer  his  loneliness. 
A  procession  of  half  a  dozen  men  twice  a 
week  to  his  cabin,  carrying  their  own  whiskey 
and  winding  up  with  a  "stag  dance  "  before 
the  premises,  was  sufficient  to  lighten  his 
eclipsed  gayety  and  remind  him  of  a  happier 
past.  "Surprise"  working  parties  visited 
his  claim  with  spasmodic  essays  towards 
helping  him,  and  great  good  humor  and  hi- 
larity prevailed.  It  was  not  an  unusual 
thing  for  an  honest  miner  to  arise  from  an 
idle  gathering  in  some  cabin  and  excuse  him" 
self  with  the  remark  that  he  "reckoned  he  'd 
put  in  an  hour's  work  in  Uncle  Billy's  tail- 
ings! "  And  yet,  as  before,  it  was  very  im- 
probable if  any  of  these  reckless  benefactors 
really  believed  in  their  own  earnestness  or 
in  the  gravity  of  the  situation.  Indeed,  a 
kind  of  hopeful  cynicism  ran  through  their 
performances.  "Like  as  not,  Uncle  Billy 
is  still  in  '  cahoots  '  [i.  e. ,  shares]  with  his 
old  pard,  and  is  just  laughin'  at  us  as  he  's 
sendin'  him  accounts  of  our  tomfoolin'." 

And  so  the  winter  passed  and  the  rains, 
and  the  days  of  cloudless  skies  and  chill 
starlit  nights  began.  There  were  still  fresh- 


66        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

ets  from  the  snow  reservoirs  piled  high  in 
the  Sierran  passes,  and  the  Bar  was  flooded, 
but  that  passed  too,  and  only  the  sunshine 
remained.  Monotonous  as  the  seasons  were, 
there  was  a  faint  movement  in  the  camp 
with  the  stirring  of  the  sap  in  the  pines  and 
cedars.  And  then,  one  day,  there  was  a 
strange  excitement  on  the  Bar.  Men  were 
seen  running  hither  and  thither,  but  mainly 
gathering  in  a  crowd  on  Uncle  Billy's  claim, 
that  still  retained  the  old  partners'  names 
in  "The  Fall  and  Foster."  To  add  to  the 
excitement,  there  was  the  quickly  repeated 
report  of  a  revolver,  to  all  appearance  aim- 
lessly exploded  in  the  air  by  some  one  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  assemblage.  As  the 
crowd  opened,  Uncle  Billy  appeared,  pale, 
hysterical,  breathless,  and  staggering  a  lit- 
tle under  the  back-slapping  and  hand-shak- 
ing of  the  whole  camp.  For  Uncle  Billy 
had  "struck  it  rich"  —  had  just  discovered 
a  "pocket,"  roughly  estimated  to  be  worth 
fifteen  thousand  dollars ! 

Although  in  that  supreme  moment  he 
missed  the  face  of  his  old  partner,  he  could 
not  help  seeing  the  unaffected  delight  and 
happiness  shining  in  the  eyes  of  all  who 
surrounded  him.  It  was  characteristic  of 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       6T 

that  sanguine  but  uncertain  life  that  success 
and  good  fortune  brought  no  jealousy  nor 
envy  to  the  unfortunate,  but  was  rather  a 
promise  and  prophecy  of  the  fulfillment  o£ 
their  own  hopes.  The  gold  was  there — • 
Nature  but  yielded  up  her  secret.  There 
was  no  prescribed  limit  to  her  bounty.  So 
strong  was  this  conviction  that  a  long-suffer- 
ing but  still  hopeful  miner,  in  the  enthusi- 
asm of  the  moment,  stooped  down  and  patted 
a  large  boulder  with  the  apostrophic  "  Good, 
old  gal!" 

Then  followed  a  night  of  jubilee,  a  next 
morning  of  hurried  consultation  with  a  min- 
ing expert  and  speculator  lured  to  the  camp 
by  the  good  tidings;  and  then  the  very  next 
night  —  to  the  utter  astonishment  of  Cedar 
Camp  —  Uncle  Billy,  with  a  draft  for  twenty 
thousand  dollars  in  his  pocket,  started  for 
San  Francisco,  and  took  leave  of  his  claim 
and  the  camp  forever  I 

When  Uncle  Billy  landed  at  the  wharves 
of  San  Francisco  he  was  a  little  bewildered. 
The  Golden  Gate  beyond  was  obliterated  by 
the  incoming  sea-fog,  which  had  also  roofed 
in  the  whole  city,  and  lights  already  glit- 
tered along  the  gray  streets  that  climbed  the 


00        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

grayer  sand-hills.  As  a  Western  man, 
brought  up  by  inland  rivers,  he  was  fasci- 
nated and  thrilled  by  the  tall-masted  sea- 
going ships,  and  he  felt  a  strange  sense  of 
the  remoter  mysterious  ocean,  which  he 
had  never  seen.  But  he  was  impressed  and 
startled  by  smartly  dressed  men  and  women, 
the  passing  of  carriages,  and  a  sudden  con- 
viction that  he  was  strange  and  foreign  to 
what  he  saw.  It  had  been  his  cherished  in- 
tention to  call  upon  his  old  partner  in  his 
working  clothes,  and  then  clap  down  on  the 
table  before  him  a  draft  for  ten  thousand 
dollars  as  Ms  share  of  their  old  claim.  But 
in  the  face  of  these  brilliant  strangers  a  sud- 
den and  unexpected  timidity  came  upon  him. 
He  had  heard  of  a  cheap  popular  hotel, 
much  frequented  by  the  returning  gold- 
miner,  who  entered  its  hospitable  doors  — 
which  held  an  easy  access  to  shops  —  and 
emerged  in  a  few  hours  a  gorgeous  butterfly 
of  fashion,  leaving  his  old  chrysalis  behind 
him.  Thence  he  inquired  his  way;  hence 
he  afterwards  issued  in  garments  glaringly 
new  and  ill  fitting.  But  he  had  not  sacri- 
ficed his  beard,  and  there  was  still  something 
fine  and  original  in  his  handsome  weak  face 
that  overcame  the  cheap  convention  of  his 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       69 

clothes.  Making  his  way  to  the  post-office, 
he  was  again  discomfited  by  the  great  size 
of  the  building,  and  bewildered  by  the  array 
of  little  square  letter-boxes  behind  glass 
which  occupied  one  whole  wall,  and  an  equal 
number  of  opaque  and  locked  wooden  ones 
legibly  numbered.  His  heart  leaped;  he 
remembered  the  number,  and  before  him 
was  a  window  with  a  clerk  behind  it.  Un- 
cle Billy  leaned  forward. 

"Kin  you  tell  me  if  the  man  that  box 
690b'longsto  is  in?" 

The  clerk  stared,  made  him  repeat  the 
question,  and  then  turned  away.  But  he 
returned  almost  instantly,  with  two  or  three 
grinning  heads  besides  his  own,  apparently 
set  behind  his  shoulders.  Uncle  Billy  was 
again  asked  to  repeat  his  question.  He 
did  so. 

"Why  don't  you  go  and  see  if  690  is  in 
his  box?  "  said  the  first  clerk,  turning  with 
affected  asperity  to  one  of  the  others. 

The  clerk  went  away,  returned,  and  said 
with  singular  gravity,  "He  was  there  a  mo- 
ment ago,  but  he  's  gone  out  to  stretch  his 
legs.  It 's  rather  crampin'  at  first;  and  he 
can't  stand  it  more  than  ten  hours  at  a  time, 
you  know." 


70        UNCLE  JIM  AND    UNCLE  BILLY 

But  simplicity  has  its  limits.  Uncle  Billy 
had  already  guessed  his  real  error  in  believ- 
ing his  partner  was  officially  connected  with 
the  building;  his  cheek  had  flushed  and 
then  paled  again.  The  pupils  of  his  blue 
eyes  had  contracted  into  suggestive  black 
points.  "  Ef  you  '11  let  me  in  at  that  winder, 
young  fellers,"  he  said,  with  equal  gravity, 
"I'll  show  yer  howl  kin  make  you  small 
enough  to  go  in  a  box  without  crampin' ! 
But  I  only  wanted  to  know  where  Jim  Fos- 
ter lived.1" 

At  which  the  first  clerk  became  perfunc- 
tory again,  but  civil.  "A  letter  left  in  his 
box  would  get  you  that  information,"  he 
said,  "and  here  's  paper  and  pencil  to  write 
it  now." 

Uncle  Billy  took  the  paper  and  began  to 
write,  "Just  got  here.  Come  and  see  me 
at" —  He  paused.  A  brilliant  idea  had 
struck  him ;  he  could  impress  both  his  old 
partner  and  the  upstarts  at  the  window ;  he 
would  put  in  the  name  of  the  latest  "swell " 
hotel  in  San  Francisco,  said  to  be  a  fairy 
dream  of  opulence.  He  added  "The  Orien- 
tal," and  without  folding  the  paper  shoved 
it  in  the  window. 

"Don't  you  want  an  envelope?"  asked 
the  clerk. 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       71 

"Put  a  stamp  on  the  corner  of  it,"  re- 
sponded Uncle  Billy,  laying  down  a  coin, 
"and  she  '11  go  through."  The  clerk  smiled, 
but  affixed  the  stamp,  and  Uncle  Billy  turned 
away. 

But  it  was  a  short-lived  triumph.  The 
disappointment  at  finding  Uncle  Jim's  ad- 
dress conveyed  no  idea  of  his  habitation 
seemed  to  remove  him  farther  away,  and 
lose  his  identity  in  the  great  city.  Besides, 
he  must  now  make  good  his  own  address, 
and  seek  rooms  at  the  Oriental.  He  went 
thither.  The  furniture  and  decorations, 
even  in  these  early  days  of  hotel-building  in 
San  Francisco,  were  extravagant  and  over- 
strained, and  Uncle  Billy  felt  lost  and  lonely 
in  his  strange  surroundings.  But  he  took 
a  handsome  suite  of  rooms,  paid  for  them  in 
advance  on  the  spot,  and  then,  half  fright- 
ened, walked  out  of  them  to  ramble  vaguely 
through  the  city  in  the  feverish  hope  of  meet- 
ing his  old  partner.  At  night  his  inquietude 
increased ;  he  could  not  face  the  long  row  of 
tables  in  the  pillared  dining-room,  filled  with 
smartly  dressed  men  and  women ;  he  evaded 
his  bedroom,  with  its  brocaded  satin  chairs 
and  its  gilt  bedstead,  and  fled  to  his  modest 
lodgings  at  the  Good  Cheer  House,  and  ap- 


72        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

peased  his  hunger  at  its  cheap  restaurant, 
in  the  company  of  retired  miners  and  freshly 
arrived  Eastern  emigrants.  Two  or  three 
days  passed  thus  in  this  quaint  double  exist- 
ence. Three  or  four  times  a  day  he  would 
enter  the  gorgeous  Oriental  with  affected 
ease  and  carelessness,  demand  his  key  from 
the  hotel-clerk,  ask  for  the  letter  that  did 
not  come,  go  to  his  room,  gaze  vaguely  from 
his  window  on  the  passing  crowd  below  for 
the  partner  he  could  not  find,  and  then  re- 
turn to  the  Good  Cheer  House  for  rest  and 
sustenance.  On  the  fourth  day  he  received 
a  short  note  from  Uncle  Jim ;  it  was  couched 
in  his  usual  sanguine  but  brief  and  business- 
like style.  He  was  very  sorry,  but  impor- 
tant and  profitable  business  took  him  out  of 
town,  but  he  trusted  to  return  soon  and  wel- 
come his  old  partner.  He  was  also,  for  the 
first  time,  jocose,  and  hoped  that  Uncle  Billy 
would  not  "see  all  the  sights"  before  he, 
Uncle  Jim,  returned.  Disappointing  as  this 
procrastination  was  to  Uncle  Billy,  a  gleam 
of  hope  irradiated  it :  the  letter  had  bridged 
over  that  gulf  which  seemed  to  yawn  between 
them  at  the  post-office.  His  old  partner 
had  accepted  his  visit  to  San  Francisco  with- 
out question,  and  had  alluded  to  a  renewal 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       73 

of  their  old  intimacy.  For  Uncle  Billy, 
with  all  his  trustful  simplicity,  had  been  tor- 
tured by  two  harrowing  doubts :  one,  whether 
Uncle  Jim  in  his  new-fledged  smartness  as 
a  "city"  man  —  such  as  he  saw  in  the 
streets  —  would  care  for  his  rough  compan- 
ionship ;  the  other,  whether  he,  Uncle  Billy, 
ought  not  to  tell  him  at  once  of  his  changed 
fortune.  But,  like  all  weak,  unreasoning 
men,  he  clung  desperately  to  a  detail  —  he 
could  not  forego  his  old  idea  of  astounding 
Uncle  Jim  by  giving  him  his  share  of  the 
"strike"  as  his  first  intimation  of  it,  and 
he  doubted,  with  more  reason  perhaps,  if 
Jim  would  see  him  after  he  had  heard  of  his 
good  fortune.  For  Uncle  Billy  had  still  a 
frightened  recollection  of  Uncle  Jim's  sud- 
den stroke  for  independence,  and  that  rigid 
punctiliousness  which  had  made  him  dog- 
gedly accept  the  responsibility  of  his  ex- 
travagant stake  at  euchre. 

With  a  view  of  educating  himself  for 
Uncle  Jim's  company,  he  "saw  the  sights" 
of  San  Francisco  —  as  an  overgrown  and 
somewhat  stupid  child  might  have  seen  them 
—  with  great  curiosity,  but  little  contamina- 
tion or  corruption.  But  I  think  he  was 
chiefly  pleased  with  watching  the  arrival  of 


74        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

the  Sacramento  and  Stockton  steamers  at 
the  wharves,  in  the  hope  of  discovering  hie 
old  partner  among  the  passengers  on  the 
gang-plank.  Here,  with  his  old  supersti- 
tious tendency  and  gambler's  instinct,  he 
would  augur  great  success  in  his  search  that 
day  if  any  one  of  the  passengers  bore  the 
least  resemblance  to  Uncle  Jim,  if  a  man  or 
woman  stepped  off  first,  or  if  he  met  a  single 
person's  questioning  eye.  Indeed,  this  got 
to  be  the  real  occupation  of  the  day,  which 
he  would  on  no  account  have  omitted,  and 
to  a  certain  extent  revived  each  day  in  his 
mind  the  morning's  work  of  their  old  part- 
nership. He  would  say  to  himself,  "It's 
time  to  go  and  look  up  Jim,"  and  put  off 
what  he  was  pleased  to  think  were  his  plea- 
sures until  this  act  of  duty  was  accomplished. 
In  this  singleness  of  purpose  he  made  very 
few  and  no  entangling  acquaintances,  nor 
did  he  impart  to  any  one  the  secret  of  his 
fortune,  loyally  reserving  it  for  his  partner's 
first  knowledge.  To  a  man  of  his  natural 
frankness  and  simplicity  this  was  a  great 
trial,  and  was,  perhaps,  a  crucial  test  of  his 
devotion.  When  he  gave  up  his  rooms  at 
the  Oriental  —  as  not  necessary  after  his 
partner's  absence  —  he  sent  a  letter,  with 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       75 

his  humble  address,  to  the  mysterious  lock- 
box  of  his  partner  without  fear  or  false 
shame.  He  would  explain  it  all  when  they 
met.  But  he  sometimes  treated  unlucky 
and  returning  miners  to  a  dinner  and  a  visit 
to  the  gallery  of  some  theatre.  Yet  while 
he  had  an  active  sympathy  with  and  under- 
standing of  the  humblest,  Uncle  Billy,  who 
for  many  years  had  done  his  own  and  his 
partner's  washing,  scrubbing,  mending,  and 
cooking,  and  saw  no  degradation  in  it,  was 
somewhat  inconsistently  irritated  by  menial 
functions  in  men,  and  although  he  gave  ex- 
travagantly to  waiters,  and  threw  a  dollar 
to  the  crossing-sweeper,  there  was  always  a 
certain  shy  avoidance  of  them  in  his  manner. 
Coming  from  the  theatre  one  night  Uncle 
Billy  was,  however,  seriously  concerned  by 
one  of  these  crossing-sweepers  turning  has- 
tily before  them  and  being  knocked  down 
by  a  passing  carriage.  The  man  rose  and 
limped  hurriedly  away ;  but  Uncle  Billy  was 
amazed  and  still  more  irritated  to  hear  from 
his  companion  that  this  kind  of  menial  occu- 
pation was  often  profitable,  and  that  at  some 
of  the  principal  crossings  the  sweepers  were 
already  rich  men. 

But  a  few  days  later  brought  a  more  not- 


76        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

able  event  to  Uncle  Billy.  One  afternoon 
in  Montgomery  Street  he  recognized  in  one 
of  its  smartly  dressed  frequenters  a  man 
who  had  a  few  years  before  been  a  member 
of  Cedar  Camp.  Uncle  Billy's  childish  de- 
light at  this  meeting,  which  seemed  to  bridge 
over  his  old  partner's  absence,  was,  however, 
only  half  responded  to  by  the  ex-miner,  and 
then  somewhat  satirically.  In  the  fullness 
of  his  emotion,  Uncle  Billy  confided  to  him 
that  he  was  seeking  his  old  partner,  Jim 
Foster,  and,  reticent  of  his  own  good  for- 
tune, spoke  glowingly  of  his  partner's  bril- 
liant expectations,  but  deplored  his  inability 
to  find  him.  And  just  now  he  was  away  on 
important  business.  "I  reckon  he  's  got 
back,"  said  the  man  dryly.  " I  did  n't  know 
he  had  a  lock-box  at  the  post-office,  but  I 
can  give  you  his  other  address.  He  lives  at 
the  Presidio,  at  Washerwoman's  Bay."  He 
stopped  and  looked  with  a  satirical  smile  at 
Uncle  Billy.  But  the  latter,  familiar  with 
Californian  mining-camp  nomenclature,  saw- 
nothing  strange  in  it,  and  merely  repeated 
his  companion's  words. 

"You'll  find  him  there!  Good-by!  So 
long!  Sorry  I  'm  in  a  hurry,"  said  the  ex- 
ininer,  and  hurried  away. 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       77 

Uncle  Billy  was  too  delighted  with  the 
prospect  of  a  speedy  meeting  with  Uncle 
Jim  to  resent  his  former  associate's  super- 
cilious haste,  or  even  to  wonder  why  Uncle 
Jim  had  not  informed  him  that  he  had  re- 
turned. It  was  not  the  first  time  that  he 
had  felt  how  wide  was  the  gulf  between  him- 
self and  these  others,  and  the  thought  drew 
him  closer  to  his  old  partner,  as  well  as  his 
old  idea,  as  it  was  now  possible  to  surprise 
him  with  the  draft.  But  as  he  was  going  to 
surprise  him  in  his  own  boarding-house  — 
probably  a  handsome  one  —  Uncle  Billy  re- 
flected that  he  would  do  so  in  a  certain  style. 

He  accordingly  went  to  a  livery  stable 
and  ordered  a  landau  and  pair,  with  a  negro 
coachman.  Seated,  in  it,  in  his  best  and 
most  ill-fitting  clothes,  he  asked  the  coach- 
man to  take  him  to  the  Presidio,  and  leaned 
back  in  the  cushions  as  they  drove  through 
the  streets  with  such  an  expression  of  beam- 
ing gratification  on  his  good-humored  face 
that  the  passers-by  smiled  at  the  equipage 
and  its  extravagant  occupant.  To  them  it 
seemed  the  not  unusual  sight  of  the  success- 
ful miner  "on  a  spree."  To  the  unsophisti- 
cated Uncle  Billy  their  smiling  seemed  only 
a  natural  and  kindly  recognition  of  his  hap- 


78        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

piness,  and  he  nodded  and  smiled  back  to 
them  with  unsuspecting  candor  and  inno- 
cent playfulness.  "These  yer  'Frisco  fel- 
lers ain't  all  slouches,  you  bet,"  he  added 
to  himself  half  aloud,  at  the  back  of  the 
grinning  coachman. 

Their  way  led  through  well-built  streeti 
to  the  outskirts,  or  rather  to  that  portion  of 
the  city  which  seemed  to  have  been  over- 
whelmed by  shifting  sand-dunes,  from  which 
half -submerged  fences  and  even  low  houses 
barely  marked  the  line  of  highway.  The 
resistless  trade-winds  which  had  marked  this 
change  blew  keenly  in  his  face  and  slightly 
chilled  his  ardor.  At  a  turn  in  the  road  the 
sea  came  in  sight,  and  sloping  towards  it 
the  great  Cemetery  of  Lone  Mountain,  with 
white  shafts  and  marbles  that  glittered  in 
the  sunlight  like  the  sails  of  ships  waiting 
to  be  launched  down  that  slope  into  the  Eter- 
nal Ocean.  Uncle  Billy  shuddered.  What 
if  it  had  been  his  fate  to  seek  Uncle  Jim 
there ! 

"Bar's  yar  Presidio!"  said  the  negro 
coachman  a  few  moments  later,  pointing 
with  his  whip,  "and  dar 's  yar  Wash'wo- 
man's  Bay! " 

Uncle  Billy  stared.     A  huge  quadrangu- 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       79 

lar  fort  of  stone  with  a  flag  flying  above  its 
battlements  stood  at  a  little  distance,  pressed 
against  the  rocks,  as  if  beating  back  the  en- 
croaching surges;  between  him  and  the  fort 
but  farther  inland  was  a  lagoon  with  a  num- 
ber of  dilapidated,  rudely  patched  cabins  or 
cottages,  like  stranded  driftwood  around  its 
shore.  But  there  was  no  mansion,  no  block 
of  houses,  no  street,  not  another  habitation 
or  dwelling  to  be  seen ! 

Uncle  Billy's  first  shock  of  astonishment 
was  succeeded  by  a  feeling  of  relief.  He 
had  secretly  dreaded  a  meeting  with  his  old 
partner  in  the  "haunts  of  fashion;"  what- 
ever was  the  cause  that  made  Uncle  Jim 
seek  this  obscure  retirement  affected  him 
but  slightly;  he  even  was  thrilled  with  a 
vague  memory  of  the  old  shiftless  camp 
they  had  both  abandoned.  A  certain  in- 
stinct —  he  knew  not  why,  or  less  still  that 
it  might  be  one  of  delicacy  —  made  him 
alight  before  they  reached  the  first  house. 
Bidding  the  carriage  wait,  Uncle  Billy  en- 
tered, and  was  informed  by  a  blowzy  Irish 
laundress  at  a  tub  that  Jim  Foster,  or 
"  Arkansaw  Jim,"  lived  at  the  fourth  shanty 
"beyant."  He  was  at  home,  for  "he  'd 
shprained  his  fut."  Uncle  Billy  hurried 


80        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

on,  stopped  before  the  door  of  a  shanty 
scarcely  less  rude  than  their  old  cabin,  and 
half  timidly  pushed  it  open.  A  growling 
voice  from  within,  a  figure  that  rose  hur- 
riedly, leaning  on  a  stick,  with  an  attempt 
to  fly,  but  in  the  same  moment  sank  back  in 
a  chair  with  an  hysterical  laugh  —  and  Un- 
cle Billy  stood  in  the  presence  of  his  old 
partner!  But  as  Uncle  Billy  darted  for- 
ward, Uncle  Jim  rose  again,  and  this  time 
with  outstretched  hands.  Uncle  Billy  caught 
them,  and  in  one  supreme  pressure  seemed 
to  pour  out  and  transfuse  his  whole  simple 
soul  into  his  partner's.  There  they  swayed 
each  other  backwards  and  forwards  and  side- 
ways by  their  still  clasped  hands,  until  Uncle 
Billy,  with  a  glance  at  Uncle  Jim's  ban- 
daged ankle,  shoved  him  by  sheer  force 
down  into  his  chair. 

Uncle  Jim  was  first  to  speak.  "Caught, 
b'  gosh !  I  mighter  known  you  'd  be  as  big 
a  fool  as  me!  Look  you,  Billy  Fall,  do 
you  know  what  you  've  done?  You  've  druv 
me  out  er  the  streets  whar  I  was  makin'  an 
honest  livin',  by  day,  on  three  crossings! 
Yes,"  he  laughed  forgivingly,  "you  druv 
me  out  er  it,  by  day,  jest  because  I  reckoned 
that  some  time  I  might  run  into  your  darned 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       81 

fool  face,"  —  another  laugh  and  a  grasp  of 
the  hand,  —  "  and  then,  b'  gosh !  not  content 
with  ruinin'  my  business  l>y  day,  when  I 
took  to  it  at  night,  you  took  to  go  in'  out  at 
nights  too,  and  so  put  a  stopper  on  me  there ! 
Shall  I  tell  you  what  else  you  did  ?  Well, 
by  the  holy  poker !  I  owe  this  sprained  foot 
to  your  darned  foolishness  and  my  own,  for 
it  was  getting  away  from  you  one  night  after 
the  theatre  that  I  got  run  into  and  run  over ! 
"Ye  see,"  he  went  on,  unconscious  of 
Uncle  Billy's  paling  face,  and  with  a  naivete, 
though  perhaps  not  a  delicacy,  equal  to 
Uncle  Billy's  own,  "I  had  to  play  roots  on 
you  with  that  lock -box  business  and  these 
letters,  because  I  did  not  want  you  to  know 
what  I  was  up  to,  for  you  mightn't  like  it, 
and  might  think  it  was  lowerin'  to  the  old 
firm,  don't  yer  see?  I  wouldn't  hev  gone 
into  it,  but  I  was  played  out,  and  I  don't 
mind  tellin'  you  now,  old  man,  that  when  I 
wrote  you  that  first  chipper  letter  from  the 
lock-box  I  hed  n't  eat  anythin'  for  two  days. 
But  it 's  all  right  now"  with  a  laugh.  "  Then 
I  got  into  this  business  —  thinkin'  it  nothin' 
—  jest  the  very  last  thing  —  and  do  you 
know,  old  pard,  I  could  n't  tell  anybody  but 
you  —  and,  in  fact,  I  kept  it  jest  to  tell  you 


82        UNCLE  JIM  AND    UNCLE  BILLY 

—  I  've  made  nine  hundred  and  fifty-six  dol- 
lars! Yes,  sir,  nine  hundred  and  fifty -six 
dollars!  solid  money,  in  Adams  and  Co.'s 
Bank,  just  out  er  my  trade." 

"Wot  trade?"  asked  Uncle  Billy. 

Uncle  Jim  pointed  to  the  corner,  where 
stood  a  large,  heavy  crossing  -  sweeper's 
broom.  "That  trade." 

"Certingly,"  said  Uncle  Billy,  with  a 
quick  laugh. 

"It 's  an  outdoor  trade,"  said  Uncle  Jim 
gravely,  but  with  no  suggestion  of  awkward- 
ness or  apology  in  his  manner;  "and  thar 
ain't  much  difference  between  sweepin'  a 
crossin'  with  a  broom  and  raking  over  tail- 
ing with  a  rake,  only  —  wot  ye  get  with  a 
broom  you  have  handed  to  ye,  and  ye  don't 
have  to  pick  it  up  and  fish  it  out  er  the  wet 
rocks  and  sluice-gushin' ;  and  it's  a  heap 
less  tiring  to  the  back." 

"Certingly,  you  bet!"  said  Uncle  Billy 
enthusiastically,  yet  with  a  certain  nervous 
abstraction. 

"I  'm  glad  ye  say  so ;  for  yer  see  I  did  n't 
know  at  first  how  you  'd  tumble  to  my  do- 
ing it,  until  I  'd  made  my  pile.  And  ef  I 
hadn't  made  it,  I  wouldn't  hev  set  eyes  on 
ye  agin,  old  pard  —  never !  " 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       83 

"Do  you  mind  my  runniii'  out  a  minit," 
said  Uncle  Billy,  rising.  "You  see,  I  've 
got  a  friend  waitin'  for  me  outside  —  and  I 
reckon  "  —  he  stammered  —  "I  '11  jest  run 
out  and  send  him  off,  so  I  kin  talk  comf 'ble 
to  ye." 

"Ye  ain't  got  anybody  you  're  owin' 
money  to,"  said  Uncle  Jim  earnestly,  "any- 
body follerin'  you  to  get  paid,  eh?  For  I 
kin  jest  set  down  right  here  and  write  ye  off 
a  check  on  the  bank!  " 

"No,"  said  Uncle  Billy.  He  slipped  out 
of  the  door,  and  ran  like  a  deer  to  the  wait- 
ing carriage.  Thrusting  a  twenty  -  dollar 
gold-piece  into  the  coachman's  hand,  he  said 
hoarsely,  "I  ain't  wantin'  that  kerridge  just 
now;  ye  ken  drive  around  and  hev  a  private 
jamboree  all  by  yourself  the  rest  of  the 
afternoon,  and  then  come  and  wait  for  me 
at  the  top  o'  the  hill  yonder." 

Thus  quit  of  his  gorgeous  equipage,  he 
hurried  back  to  Uncle  Jim,  grasping  his  ten- 
thousand  dollar  draft  in  his  pocket.  He  was 
nervous,  he  was  frightened,  but  he  must  get 
rid  of  the  draft  and  his  story,  and  have  it 
over.  But  before  he  could  speak  he  was 
unexpectedly  stopped  by  Uncle  Jim. 

"Now,  look  yer,  Billy  boy!  "  said  Uncle 


84       UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

Jim;  "I  got  suthin'  to  say  to  ye  —  and  1 
might  as  well  clear  it  off  my  mind  at  once, 
and  then  we  can  start  fair  agin.  Now,"  he 
went  on,  with  a  half  laugh,  "wasn't  it 
enough  for  me  to  go  on  pretendin'  I  was  rich 
and  doing  a  big  business,  and  gettin'  up  that 
lock-box  dodge  so  as  ye  couldn't  find  out 
whar  I  hung  out  and  what  I  was  doin'  — 
was  n't  it  enough  for  me  to  go  on  with  all 
this  play-actin',  but  you,  you  long-legged 
or 'nary  cuss !  must  get  up  and  go  to  lyin' 
and  play-actin',  too! " 

"Me  play-actin'?  Me  lyin'?"  gasped 
Uncle  Billy. 

Uncle  Jim  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and 
laughed.  "Do  you  think  you  could  fool 
me?  Do  you  think  I  didn't  see  through 
your  little  game  o'  going  to  that  swell  Orien- 
tal, jest  as  if  ye  'd  made  a  big  strike  —  and 
all  the  while  ye  wasn't  sleepin'  or  eatin* 
there,  but  jest  wrastlin'  yer  hash  and  having 
a  roll  down  at  the  Good  Cheer!  Do  you 
think  I  did  n't  spy  on  ye  and  find  that  out? 
Oh,  you  long-eared  jackass-rabbit!  " 

He  laughed  until  the  tears  came  into  his 
eyes,  and  Uncle  Billy  laughed  too,  albeit 
until  the  laugh  on  his  face  became  quite 
fixed,  and  he  was  fain  to  bury  his  head  in 
Ms  handkerchief. 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       85 

"And  yet,"  said  Uncle  Jim,  with  a  deep 
breath,  "gosh!  I  was  frighted  —  jest  for  a 
minit !  I  thought,  mebbe,  you  had  made  a 
big  strike  —  when  I  got  your  first  letter  — 
and  I  made  up  my  mind  what  I  'd  do !  And 
then  I  remembered  you  was  jest  that  kind 
of  an  open  sluice  that  couldn't  keep  any- 
thin'  to  yourself,  and  you  'd  have  been  sure 
to  have  yelled  it  out  to  me  the  first  thingv 
So  I  waited.  And  I  found  you  out,  yoi\ 
old  sinner !  "  He  reached  forward  and  dug 
Uncle  Billy  in  the  ribs. 

"  What  would  you  hev  done  ?  "  said  Uncle 
Billy,  after  an  hysterical  collapse. 

Uncle  Jim's  face  grew  grave  again.  "I  'd 
hev  —  I'd  —  hev  cl'ared  out !  Out  er 
'Frisco !  out  er  Calif orny !  out  er  Ameriky  I 
I  couldn't  have  stud  it!  Don't  think  I 
would  hev  begrudged  ye  yer  luck !  No  man 
would  have  been  gladder  than  me."  He 
leaned  forward  again,  and  laid  his  hand  ca- 
ressingly upon  his  partner's  arm  —  "Don't 
think  I  'd  hev  wanted  to  take  a  penny  of  it 
—  but  I  —  thar!  I  couldn't  hev  stood  up 
under  it !  To  hev  had  you,  you  that  I  left 
behind,  comin'  down  here  rollin'  in  wealth 
and  new  partners  and  friends,  and  arrive 
upon  me  —  and  this  shanty  —  and  "  —  he 


86        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

threw  towards  the  corner  of  the  room  a  ter- 
rible gesture,  none  the  less  terrible  that  it 
was  illogical  and  inconsequent  to  all  that 
had  gone  before  —  "and  —  and  —  that 
broom  I " 

There  was  a  dead  silence  in  the  room. 
With  it  Uncle  Billy  seemed  to  feel  himself 
again  transported  to  the  homely  cabin  at 
Cedar  Camp  and  that  fateful  night,  with  his 
partner's  strange,  determined  face  before 
him  as  then.  He  even  fancied  that  he 
heard  the  roaring  of  the  pines  without,  and 
did  not  know  that  it  was  the  distant  sea. 

But  after  a  minute  Uncle  Jim  resumed :  — 

"  Of  course  you ' ve  made  a  little  raise 
somehow,  or  you  would  n't  be  here?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Uncle  Billy  eagerly.  "Yes! 
I've  got" —  He  stopped  and  stammered. 
"I  've  got  —  a  —  few  hundreds." 

"Oh,  oh!"  said  Uncle  Jim  cheerfully. 
He  paused,  and  then  added  earnestly,  "I 
say!  You  ain't  got  left,  over  and  above 
your  d — d  foolishness  at  the  Oriental,  as 
much  as  five  hundred  dollars  ?  " 

"I  've  got,"  said  Uncle  Billy,  blushing  a 
little  over  his  first  deliberate  and  affected 
lie,  "  I  've  got  at  least  five  hundred  and  sev- 
enty-two dollars.  Yes,"  he  added  tenta- 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       87 

tively ,  gazing  anxiously  at  his  partner,  "  I ' ve 
got  at  least  that." 

"Je  whillikins!  "  said  Uncle  Jim,  with  a 
laugh.  Then  eagerly,  "Look  here,  pard! 
Then  we  're  on  velvet!  I  've  got  nine  hun- 
dred ;  put  your  five  with  that,  and  I  know 
a  little  ranch  that  we  can  get  for  twelve  hun- 
dred. That 's  what  I  've  been  savin'  up  for 
—  that 's  my  little  game!  No  more  minin' 
for  me.  It 's  got  a  shanty  twice  as  big  as 
our  old  cabin,  nigh  on  a  hundred  acres,  and 
two  mustangs.  We  can  run  it  with  two 
Chinamen  and  jest  make  it  howl !  Wot  yer 
say  —  eh?  "  He  extended  his  hand. 

"I'm  in,"  said  Uncle  Billy,  radiantly 
grasping  Uncle  Jim's.  But  his  smile  faded, 
and  his  clear  simple  brow  wrinkled  in  two 
lines. 

Happily  Uncle  Jim  did  not  notice  it. 
"Now,  then,  old  pard,"  he  said  brightly, 
"we  '11  have  a  gay  old  time  to-night  —  one 
of  our  jamborees !  I  've  got  some  whiskey 
here  and  a  deck  o'  cards,  and  we  '11  have 
a  little  game,  you  understand,  but  not  for 
'keeps'  now!  No,  siree;  we'll  play  for 
beans." 

A  sudden  light  illuminated  Uncle  Billy's 
face  again,  but  he  said,  with  a  grim  despera- 


88        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

tion,  "Not  to-night!  I've  got  to  go  into 
town.  That  fren'  o'  mine  expects  me  to  go 
to  the  theayter,  don't  ye  see?  But  I  '11  be 
out  to-morrow  at  sun-up,  and  we  '11  fix  up 
this  thing  o'  the  ranch." 

"  Seems  to  me  you  're  kinder  stuck  on  this 
fren',"  grunted  Uncle  Jim. 

Uncle  Billy's  heart  bounded  at  his  part- 
ner's jealousy.  "No  —  but  I  must,  you 
know,"  he  returned,  with  a  faint  laugh. 

"I  say  —  it  ain't  a  her,  is  it ?  "  said  Uncle 
Jim. 

Uncle  Billy  achieved  a  diabolical  wink 
and  a  creditable  blush  at  his  lie. 

"Billy?" 

"Jim!" 

And  under  cover  of  this  festive  gallantry 
Uncle  Billy  escaped.  He  ran  through  the 
gathering  darkness,  and  toiled  up  the  shift- 
ing sands  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  where  he 
found  the  carriage  waiting. 

"Wot,"  said  Uncle  Billy  in  a  low  confi- 
dential tone  to  the  coachman,  "wot  do  you 
'Frisco  fellers  allow  to  be  the  best,  biggest, 
and  riskiest  gamblin' -saloon  here?  Suthin' 
high-toned,  you  know?" 

The  negro  grinned.  It  was  the  usual  case 
of  the  extravagant  spendthrift  miner,  though 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       89 

perhaps  he  had  expected  a  different  question 
and  order. 

"Dey  is  de  «  Polka,'  de  '  El  Dorado,'  and 
de  '  Arcade '  saloon,  boss,"  he  said,  flicking 
his  whip  meditatively.  "Most  gents  from 
de  mines  prefer  de  '  Polka, '  for  dey  is  dan- 
cing wid  de  gals  frown  in.  But  de  real 
prima  facie  place  for  gents  who  go  for  buck- 
in'  agin  de  tiger  and  straight-out  gamblin' 
is  de4  Arcade.'" 

"Drive  there  like  thunder!"  said  Uncle 
Billy,  leaping  into  the  carriage. 

True  to  his  word,  Uncle  Billy  was  at  his 
partner's  shanty  early  the  next  morning. 
He  looked  a  little  tired,  but  happy,  and  had 
brought  a  draft  with  him  for  five  hundred 
and  seventy -five  dollars,  which  he  explained 
was  the  total  of  his  capital.  Uncle  Jim  was 
overjoyed.  They  would  start  for  Napa  that 
very  day,  and  conclude  the  purchase  of  the 
ranch;  Uncle  Jim's  sprained  foot  was  a 
sufficient  reason  for  his  giving  up  his  present 
vocation,  which  he  could  also  sell  at  a  small 
profit.  His  domestic  arrangements  were 
yery  simple ;  there  was  nothing  to  take  with 
him  —  there  was  everything  to  leave  behind. 
And  that  afternoon,  at  sunset,  the  two  re- 


90        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

united  partners  were  seated  on  the  deck  of 
the  Napa  boat  as  she  swung  into  the  stream. 

Uncle  Billy  was  gazing  over  the  railing 
with  a  look  of  abstracted  relief  towards  the 
Golden  Gate,  where  the  sinking  sun  seemed 
to  be  drawing  towards  him  in  the  ocean  a 
golden  stream  that  was  forever  pouring 
from  the  Bay  and  the  three-hilled  city  beside 
it.  What  Uncle  Billy  was  thinking  of,  or 
what  the  picture  suggested  to  him,  did  not 
transpire;  for  Uncle  Jim,  who,  emboldened 
by  his  holiday,  was  luxuriating  in  an  even- 
ing paper,  suddenly  uttered  a  long-drawn 
whistle,  and  moved  closer  to  his  abstracted 
partner.  "Look  yer,"  he  said,  pointing  to 
a  paragraph  he  had  evidently  just  read, 
"just  you  listen  to  this,  and  see  if  we  ain't 
lucky,  you  and  me,  to  be  jest  wot  we  air  — 
trustin'  to  our  own  hard  work  —  and  not 
thinkin'  o'  'strikes'  and  'fortins.'  Jest 
unbutton  yer  ears,  Billy,  while  I  reel  off 
this  yer  thing  I  've  jest  struck  in  the  paper, 
and  see  what  d — d  fools  some  men  kin  make 
o'  themselves.  And  that  theer  reporter  wot 
wrote  it  —  must  hev  seed  it  reely !  " 

Uncle  Jim  cleared  his  throat,  and  holding 
the  paper  close  to  his  eyes  read  aloud 
slowly :  — 


UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY       91 

"  '  A  scene  of  excitement  that  recalled  the 
palmy  days  of  '49  was  witnessed  last  night  at 
the  Arcade  Saloon.  A  stranger,  who  might 
have  belonged  to  that  reckless  epoch,  and 
who  bore  every  evidence  of  being  a  success- 
ful Pike  County  miner  out  on  a  "  spree," 
appeared  at  one  of  the  tables  with  a  negro 
coachman  bearing  two  heavy  bags  of  gold. 
Selecting  a  faro-bank  as  his  base  of  opera- 
tions, he  began  to  bet  heavily  and  with  ap- 
parent recklessness,  until  his  play  excited 
the  breathless  attention  of  every  one.  In 
a  few  moments  he  had  won  a  sum  variously 
estimated  at  from  eighty  to  a  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars.  A  rumor  went  round  the 
room  that  it  was  a  concerted  attempt  to 
"  break  the  bank  "  rather  than  the  drunken 
freak  of  a  Western  miner,  dazzled  by  some 
successful  strike.  To  this  theory  the  man's 
careless  and  indifferent  bearing  towards  his 
extraordinary  gains  lent  great  credence. 
The  attempt,  if  such  it  was,  however,  was 
unsuccessful.  After  winning  ten  times  in 
succession  the  luck  turned,  and  the  unfortu- 
nate "  bucker  "  was  cleared  out  not  only  of 
his  gains,  but  of  his  original  investment, 
which  may  be  placed  roughly  at  twenty  thou- 
sand dollars.  This  extraordinary  play  was 


92        UNCLE  JIM  AND   UNCLE  BILLY 

witnessed  by  a  crowd  of  excited  players,  who 
were  less  impressed  by  even  the  magnitude 
of  the  stakes  than  the  perfect  sang-froid 
\nd  recklessness  of  the  player,  who,  it  is 
jaid,  at  the  close  of  the  game  tossed  a  twenty- 
dollar  gold-piece  to  the  banker  and  smilingly 
withdrew.  The  man  was  not  recognized  by 
any  of  the  habitues  of  the  place.' 

"There !  "  said  Uncle  Jim,  as  he  hurriedly 
slurred  over  the  French  substantive  at  the 
close,  "did  ye  ever  see  such  God-forsaken 
foolishness?  ' 

Uncle  Billy  lifted  his  abstracted  eyes 
from  the  current,  still  pouring  its  unreturn- 
ing  gold  into  the  sinking  sun,  and  said,  with 
a  deprecatory  smile,  "Never!  " 

Nor  even  in  the  days  of  prosperity  that 
visited  the  Great  Wheat  Ranch  of  "Fall 
and  Foster"  did  he  ever  tell  his  secret  to 
his  partner. 


SEE  YUP 

I  DON'T  suppose  that  his  progenitors  ever 
gave  him  that  name,  or,  indeed,  that  it  was 
a  name,  at  all;  but  it  was  currently  believed 
that  —  as  pronounced  "  See  Up  "  —  it  meant 
that  lifting  of  the  outer  angle  of  the  eye 
common  to  the  Mongolian.  On  the  other 
hand,  I  had  been  told  that  there  was  an  old 
Chinese  custom  of  affixing  some  motto  or 
legend,  or  even  a  sentence  from  Confucius, 
as  a  sign  above  their  shops,  and  that  two 
or  more  words,  which  might  be  merely  equi- 
valent to  "Virtue  is  its  own  reward,"  or 
"Riches  are  deceitful,"  were  believed  by 
the  simple  Calif  ornian  miner  to  be  the  name 
of  the  occupant  himself.  Howbeit,  "See 
Yup  "  accepted  it  with  the  smiling  patience 
of  his  race,  and  never  went  by  any  ether. 
If  one  of  the  tunnelmen  always  addressed 
him  as  "Brigadier-General,"  "Judge,"  or 
"Commodore,"  it  was  understood  to  be  only 
the  American  fondness  for  ironic  title,  and 
was  never  used  except  in  personal  conversa- 


94  SEE  YUP 

tion.  In  appearance  he  looked  like  any 
other  Chinaman,  wore  the  ordinary  blue  cot- 
ton blouse  and  white  drawers  of  the  Sampan 
coolie,  and,  in  spite  of  the  apparent  cleanli- 
ness and  freshness  of  these  garments,  always 
exhaled  that  singular  medicated  odor  —  half 
opium,  half  ginger  —  which  we  recognized 
as  the  common  "Chinese  smell." 

Our  first  interview  was  characteristic  of 
his  patient  quality.  He  had  done  my  wash- 
ing for  several  months,  but  I  had  never  yet 
seen  him.  A  meeting  at  last  had  become 
necessary  to  correct  his  impressions  regard- 
ing "buttons"  —  which  he  had  seemed  to 
consider  as  mere  excrescences,  to  be  removed 
like  superfluous  dirt  from  soiled  linen.  I 
had  expected  him  to  call  at  my  lodgings,  but 
he  had  not  yet  made  his  appearance.  One 
day,  during  the  noontide  recess  of  the  little 
frontier  school  over  which  I  presided,  I  re- 
turned rather  early.  Two  or  three  of  the 
smaller  boys,  who  were  loitering  about  the 
school-yard,  disappeared  with  a  certain 
guilty  precipitation  that  I  suspected  for  the 
moment,  but  which  I  presently  dismissed 
from  my  mind.  I  passed  through  the  empty 
school-room  to  my  desk,  sat  down,  and  began 
to  prepare  the  coming  lessons.  Presently  I 


SEE  YUP  95 

heard  a  faint  sigh.  Looking  up,  to  my  in- 
tense concern,  I  discovered  a  solitary  China- 
man whom  I  had  overlooked,  sitting  in  a 
rigid  attitude  on  a  bench  with  his  back  to 
the  window.  He  caught  my  eye  and  smiled 
sadly,  but  without  moving. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  I  asked 
sternly. 

"Me  washee  shilts ;  me  talkee  '  buttons. '  " 

"Oh!  you  're  See  Yup,  are  you?" 

"Allee  same,  John." 

"Well,  come  here." 

I  continued  my  work,  but  he  did  not 
move. 

"Come  here,  hang  it!  Don't  you  under- 
stand?" 

"Me  shabbee,  *  comme  yea.'  But  me  no 
shabbee  Mellican  boy,  who  catchee  me,  allee 
same.  You  '  comme  yea  ' —  you  shabbee  ?  " 

Indignant,  but  believing  that  the  unfortu- 
nate man  was  still  in  fear  of  persecution  from 
the  mischievous  urchins  whom  I  had  evi- 
dently just  interrupted,  I  put  down  my  pen 
and  went  over  to  him.  Here  I  discovered, 
to  my  surprise  and  mortification,  that  hia 
long  pigtail  was  held  hard  and  fast  by  the 
closed  window  behind  him,  which  the  young 
rascals  had  shut  down  upon  it,  after  having 


96  SEE   YUP 

first  noiselessly  fished  it  outside  with  a  hook 
and  line.  I  apologized,  opened  the  window, 
and  released  him.  He  did  not  complain,  al- 
though he  must  have  been  fixed  in  that  un- 
comfortable position  for  some  minutes,  but 
plunged  at  once  into  the  business  that  brought 
him  there. 

"But  why  didn't  you  come  to  my  lodg- 
ings?" I  asked. 

He  smiled  sadly  but  intelligently. 

"Mishtel  Bally  [Mr.  Barry,  my  landlord] 
he  owce  me  five  dollee  fo  washee,  washee. 
He  no  payee  me.  He  say  he  knock  hellee 
outee  me  allee  time  I  come  for  payee.  So 
me  no  come  housee,  me  come  schoolee* 
Shabbee?  Mellican  boy  no  good,  but  not 
so  big  as  Mellican  man.  No  can  hurtee 
Chinaman  so  much.  Shabbee?" 

Alas !  I  knew  that  this  was  mainly  true. 
Mr.  James  Barry  was  an  Irishman,  whose 
finer  religious  feelings  revolted  against  pay- 
ing money  to  a  heathen.  I  could  not  find 
it  in  my  heart  to  say  anything  to  See  Yup 
about  the  buttons;  indeed,  I  spoke  in  com- 
plimentary terms  about  the  gloss  of  my 
shirts,  and  I  think  I  meekly  begged  him  to 
come  again  for  my  washing.  When  I  went 
home  I  expostulated  with  Mr.  Barry,  but 


SEE   YUP  97 

succeeded  only  in  extracting  from  him  the 
conviction  that  I  was  one  of  "thim  black 
Republican  felly s  that  worshiped  naygurs." 
I  had  simply  made  an  enemy  of  him.  But 
I  did  not  know  that,  at  the  same  time,  I  had 
made  a  friend  of  See  Yup ! 

I  became  aware  of  this  a  few  days  later, 
by  the  appearance  on  my  desk  of  a  small  pot 
containing  a  specimen  of  camellia  japonica 
in  flower.  I  knew  the  school-children  were 
in  the  habit  of  making  presents  to  me  in  this 
furtive  fashion, —  leaving  their  own  nosegays 
of  wild  flowers,  or  perhaps  a  cluster  of  roses 
from  their  parents'  gardens,  —  but  I  also 
knew  that  this  exotic  was  too  rare  to  come 
from  them.  I  remembered  that  See  Yup 
had  a  Chinese  taste  for  gardening,  and  a 
friend,  another  Chinaman,  who  kept  a  large 
nursery  in  the  adjoining  town.  But  my 
doubts  were  set  at  rest  by  the  discovery  of 
a  small  roll  of  red  rice-paper  containing  my 
washing-bill,  fastened  to  the  camellia  stalk. 
It  was  plain  that  this  mingling  of  business 
and  delicate  gratitude  was  clearly  See  Yup's 
own  idea.  As  the  finest  flower  was  the  top- 
most one,  I  plucked  it  for  wearing,  when  I 
found,  to  my  astonishment,  that  it  was  sim- 
ply wired  to  the  stalk.  This  led  me  to  look 


98  SEE  YUP 

at  the  others,  which  I  found  also  wired! 
More  than  that,  they  seemed  to  be  an  infe- 
rior flower,  and  exhaled  that  cold,  earthy 
odor  peculiar  to  the  camellia,  even,  as  I 
thought,  to  an  excess.  A  closer  examina- 
tion resulted  in  the  discovery  that,  with  the 
exception  of  the  first  flower  I  had  plucked, 
they  were  one  and  all  ingeniously  constructed 
of  thin  slices  of  potato,  marvelously  cut  to 
imitate  the  vegetable  waxiness  and  formality 
of  the  real  flower.  The  work  showed  an  in- 
finite and  almost  pathetic  patience  in  detail, 
yet  strangely  incommensurate  with  the  re- 
sult, admirable  as  it  was.  Nevertheless, 
this  was  also  like  See  Yup.  But  whether 
he  had  tried  to  deceive  me,  or  whether  he 
only  wished  me  to  admire  his  skill,  I  could 
not  say.  And  as  his  persecution  by  my 
scholars  had  left  a  balance  of  consideration 
in  his  favor,  I  sent  him  a  warm  note  of 
thanks,  and  said  nothing  of  my  discovery. 

As  our  acquaintance  progressed,  I  became 
frequently  the  recipient  of  other  small  pre- 
sents from  him:  a  pot  of  preserves  of  a 
quality  I  could  not  purchase  in  shops,  and 
whose  contents  in  their  crafty,  gingery  dis- 
simulation so  defied  definition  that  I  never 
knew  whether  they  were  animal,  vegetable, 


SEE   YUP  99 

or  mineral;  two  or  three  hideous  Chinese 
idols,  "for  luckee,"  and  a  diabolical  fire- 
work with  an  irregular  spasmodic  activity 
that  would  sometimes  be  prolonged  until  the 
next  morning.  In  return,  I  gave  him  some 
apparently  hopeless  oral  lessons  in  English, 
and  certain  sentences  to  be  copied,  which  he 
did  with  marvelous  precision.  I  remember 
one  instance  when  this  peculiar  faculty  of 
imitation  was  disastrous  in  result.  In  set- 
ting him  a  copy,  I  had  blurred  a  word  which 
I  promptly  erased,  and  then  traced  the  let- 
ters more  distinctly  over  the  scratched  sur- 
face. To  my  surprise,  See  Yup  trium- 
phantly produced  his  copy  with  the  erasion 
itself  carefully  imitated,  and,  in  fact,  much 
more  neatly  done  than  mine. 

In  our  confidential  intercourse,  I  never 
seemed  to  really  get  nearer  to  him.  His 
sympathy  and  simplicity  appeared  like  his 
flowers  —  to  be  a  good-humored  imitation 
of  my  own.  I  am  satisfied  that  his  particu- 
larly soulless  laugh  was  not  derived  from 
any  amusement  he  actually  felt,  yet  I  could 
not  say  it  was  forced.  In  his  accurate  im- 
itations, I  fancied  he  was  only  trying  to 
evade  any  responsibility  of  his  own.  That 
devolved  upon  his  taskmaster!  In  the  at- 


100  SEE  YUP 

tention  he  displayed  when  new  ideas  were 
presented  to  him,  there  was  a  slight  conde- 
scension, as  if  he  were  looking  down  upon 
them  from  his  three  thousand  years  of  his- 
tory. 

"Don't  you  think  the  electric  telegraph 
wonderful?"  I  asked  one  day. 

"Very  good  for  Mellican  man,"  he  said, 
with  his  aimless  laugh;  "plenty  makee  him 
jump ! " 

I  never  could  tell  whether  he  had  con- 
founded it  with  electro-galvanism,  or  was 
only  satirizing  our  American  haste  and  fe- 
verishness.  He  was  capable  of  either.  For 
that  matter,  we  knew  that  the  Chinese  them- 
selves possessed  some  means  of  secretly  and 
quickly  communicating  with  one  another. 
Any  news  of  good  or  ill  import  to  their  race 
was  quickly  disseminated  through  the  settle- 
ment before  we  knew  anything  about  it. 
An  innocent  basket  of  clothes  from  the 
wash,  sent  up  from  the  river-bank,  became 
in  some  way  a  library  of  information ;  a  sin- 
gle slip  of  rice-paper,  aimlessly  fluttering  in 
the  dust  of  the  road,  had  the  mysterious 
effect  of  diverging  a  whole  gang  of  coolie 
tramps  away  from  our  settlement. 

When  See  Yup  was  not  subject  to  the 


SEE  YUP  101 

persecutions  of  the  more  ignorant  and  brutal 
he  was  always  a  source  of  amusement  to  all, 
and  I  cannot  recall  an  instance  when  he  was 
ever  taken  seriously.  The  miners  found 
diversions  even  in  his  alleged  frauds  and 
trickeries,  whether  innocent  or  retaliatory, 
and  were  fond  of  relating  with  great  gusto 
his  evasion  of  the  Foreign  Miners'  Tax. 
This  was  an  oppressive  measure  aimed  prin- 
cipally at  the  Chinese,  who  humbly  worked 
the  worn-out  "tailings"  of  their  Christian 
fellow  miners.  It  was  stated  that  See  Yup, 
knowing  the  difficulty  —  already  alluded  to 
—  of  identifying  any  particular  Chinaman 
by  name,  conceived  the  additional  idea  of 
confusing  recognition  by  intensifying  the 
monotonous  facial  expression.  Having  paid 
his  tax  himself  to  the  collector,  he  at  once 
passed  the  receipt  to  his  fellows,  so  that  the 
collector  found  himself  confronted  in  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  settlement  with  the  receipt 
and  the  aimless  laugh  of,  apparently,  See 
Yup  himself.  Although  we  all  knew  that 
there  were  a  dozen  Chinamen  or  more  at 
work  at  the  mines,  the  collector  never  was 
able  to  collect  the  tax  from  more  than  two, 
-—  See  Yup  and  one  See  Yin,  —  and  so  great 
was  their  facial  resemblance  that  the  unfor- 


102  SEE  YUP 

tunate  official  for  a  long  time  hugged  him- 
self with  the  conviction  that  he  had  made 
See  Yup  pay  twice,  and  withheld  the  money 
from  the  government!  It  is  very  probable 
that  the  Calif ornian's  recognition  of  the 
sanctity  of  a  joke,  and  his  belief  that  "cheat- 
ing the  government  was  only  cheating  him- 
self," largely  accounted  for  the  sympathies 
of  the  rest  of  the  miners. 

But  these  sympathies  were  not  always 
unanimous. 

One  evening  I  strolled  into  the  bar-room 
of  the  principal  saloon,  which,  so  far  as 
mere  upholstery  and  comfort  went,  was  also 
the  principal  house  in  the  settlement.  The 
first  rains  had  commenced;  the  windows 
were  open,  for  the  influence  of  the  south- 
west trades  penetrated  even  this  far-off  moun- 
tain mining  settlement,  but,  oddly  enough, 
there  was  a  fire  in  the  large  central  stove, 
around  which  the  miners  had  collected,  with 
their  steaming  boots  elevated  on  a  projecting 
iron  railing  that  encircled  it.  They  were 
not  attracted  by  the  warmth,  but  the  stove 
formed  a  social  pivot  for  gossip,  and  sug- 
gested that  mystic  circle  dear  to  the  grega- 
rious instinct.  Yet  they  were  decidedly  a 
despondent  group.  For  some  moments  the 


SEE   YUP  103 

silence  was  only  broken  by  a  gasp,  a  sigh,  a 
muttered  oath,  or  an  impatient  change  of 
position.  There  was  nothing  in  the  fortunes 
of  the  settlement,  nor  in  their  own  indi- 
vidual affairs  to  suggest  this  gloom.  The 
singular  truth  was  that  they  were,  one  and 
all,  suffering  from  the  pangs  of  dyspepsia. 

Incongruous  as  such  a  complaint  might 
seem  to  their  healthy  environment,  —  their 
outdoor  life,  their  daily  exercise,  the  healing 
balsam  of  the  mountain  air,  their  enforced 
temperance  in  diet,  and  the  absence  of  all 
enervating  pleasures,  —  it  was  nevertheless 
the  incontestable  fact.  Whether  it  was  the 
result  of  the  nervous,  excitable  temperament 
which  had  brought  them  together  in  this 
feverish  hunt  for  gold;  whether  it  was  the 
quality  of  the  tinned  meats  or  half -cooked 
provisions  they  hastily  bolted,  begrudging 
the  time  it  took  to  prepare  and  to  consume 
them;  whether  they  too  often  supplanted 
their  meals  by  tobacco  or  whiskey,  the  singu- 
lar physiological  truth  remained  that  these 
young,  finely  selected  adventurers,  living 
the  lives  of  the  natural,  aboriginal  man,  and 
looking  the  picture  of  health  and  strength, 
actually  suffered  more  from  indigestion  than 
the  pampered  dwellers  of  the  cities.  The 


104  SEE   YUP 

quantity  of  "patent  medicines,"  "bitters," 
"pills,"  "panaceas,"  and  "lozenges  "  sold  in 
the  settlement  almost  exceeded  the  amount 
of  the  regular  provisions  whose  effects  they 
were  supposed  to  correct.  The  sufferers 
eagerly  scanned  advertisements  and  placards. 
There  were  occasional  "runs"  on  new  "spe- 
cifics," and  general  conversation  eventually 
turned  into  a  discussion  of  their  respective 
merits.  A  certain  childlike  faith  and  trust 
in  each  new  remedy  was  not  the  least  dis- 
tressing and  pathetic  of  the  symptoms  of 
these  grown-up,  bearded  men. 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  said  Cyrus  Parker, 
glancing  around  at  his  fellow  sufferers,  "ye 
kin  talk  of  your  patent  medicines,  and  I  've 
tackled  'em  all,  but  only  the  other  day  I 
struck  suthin'  that  I  'm  goin'  to  hang  on  to, 
you  bet." 

Every  eye  was  turned  moodily  to  the 
speaker,  but  no  one  said  anything. 

"And  I  did  n't  get  it  out  er  advertisements, 
nor  off  of  circulars.  I  got  it  out  er  my  head, 
just  by  solid  thinking,"  continued  Parker. 

"What  was  it,  Cy?"  said  one  unsophisti- 
cated and  inexperienced  sufferer. 

Instead  of  replying,  Parker,  like  a  true 
artist,  knowing  he  had  the  ear  of  his  audi- 


SEE   YUP  105 

ence,  dramatically  flashed  a  question  upon 
them. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  Chinaman  hav- 
ing dyspepsy?  " 

"Never  heard  he  had  sabe  enough  to  hev 
anything^  said  a  scorner. 

"No,  but  did  ye?"  insisted  Parker. 

"Well,  no!  "  chorused  the  group.  They 
were  evidently  struck  with  the  fact. 

"Of  course  you  didn't,"  said  Parker  tri- 
umphantly. "  'Cos  they  ain't.  Well,  gen- 
tlemen, it  did  n't  seem  to  me  the  square  thing 
that  a  pesky  lot  o'  yellow-skinned  heathens 
should  be  built  different  to  a  white  man,  and 
never  know  the  tortur'  that  a  Christian  feels ; 
and  one  day,  arter  dinner,  when  I  was  just 
a-lyin'  flat  down  on  the  bank,  squirmin', 
and  clutching  the  short  grass  to  keep  from 
yellin',  who  should  go  by  but  that  pizened 
See  Yup,  with  a  grin  on  his  face. 

"'  Mellican  man  plenty  playee  to  him 
Joss  after  eatin','  sez  he;  'but  Chinaman 
smellee  punk,  allee  same,  and  no  hab  got.' 

"I  knew  the  slimy  cuss  was  just  purtend- 
in'  he  thought  I  was  pray  in'  to  my  Joss,  but 
I  was  that  weak  I  hadn't  stren'th,  boys,  to 
heave  a  rock  at  him.  Yet  it  gave  me  an 
idea." 


106  SEE   YUP 

"What  was  it?"  they  asked  eagerly. 

"I  went  down  to  his  shop  the  next  day, 
when  he  was  alone,  and  I  was  feeling  mighty 
bad,  and  I  got  hold  of  his  pigtail  and  I  al- 
lowed I  'd  stuff  it  down  his  throat  if  he 
did  n't  tell  me  what  he  meant.  Then  he  took 
a  piece  of  punk  and  lit  it,  and  put  it  under 
my  nose,  and,  darn  my  skin,  gentlemen,  you 
migh'  n't  believe  me,  but  in  a  minute  I  felt 
better,  and  after  a  whiff  or  two  I  was  all 
right." 

"Was  it  pow'ful  strong,  Cy?"  asked  the 
inexperienced  one. 

"No,"  said  Parker,  "and  that's  just 
what 's  got  me.  It  was  a  sort  o'  dreamy, 
spicy  smell,  like  a  hot  night.  But  as  I 
could  n't  go  'round  'mong  you  boys  with  a 
lighted  piece  o'  punk  in  my  hand,  ez  if  I 
was  settin'  off  Fourth  of  July  firecrackers, 
I  asked  him  if  he  could  n't  fix  me  up  suthin' 
in  another  shape  that  would  be  handier  to 
use  when  I  was  took  bad,  and  I  'd  reckon  to 
pay  him  for  it  like  ez  I  'd  pay  for  any  other 
patent  medicine.  So  he  fixed  me  up  this." 

He  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  and  drew 
out  a  small  red  paper  which,  when  opened, 
disclosed  a  pink  powder.  It  was  gravely 
passed  around  the  group. 


SEE   YUP  107 

"Why,  it  smells  and  tastes  like  ginger," 
said  one. 

"It  is  only  ginger!"  said  another  scorn- 
fully. 

"Mebbe  it  is,  and  mebbe  it  isn't,"  re- 
turned Cy  Parker  stoutly.  "Mebbe  ut  's 
only  my  fancy.  But  if  it 's  the  sort  o'  stuff 
to  bring  on  that  fancy,  and  that  fancy  cures 
me,  it 's  all  the  same.  I  've  got  about  two 
dollars'  worth  o'  that  fancy  or  that  ginger, 
and  I  'm  going  to  stick  to  it.  You  hear 
me!  "  And  he  carefully  put  it  back  in  his 
pocket. 

At  which  criticisms  and  gibes  broke  forth. 
If  he  (Cy  Parker),  a  white  man,  was  going 
to  "demean  himself"  by  consulting  a  Chi- 
nese quack,  he  'd  better  buy  up  a  lot  o'  idols 
and  stand  'em  up  around  his  cabin.  If  he 
had  that  sort  o'  confidences  with  See  Yup, 
he  ought  to  go  to  work  with  him  on  his 
cheap  tailings,  and  be  fumigated  all  at  the 
same  time.  If  he  'd  been  smoking  an  opium 
pipe,  instead  of  smelling  punk,  he  ought  to 
be  man  enough  to  confess  it.  Yet  it  was 
noticeable  that  they  were  all  very  anxious  to 
examine  the  packet  again,  but  Cy  Parker 
was  alike  indifferent  to  demand  or  entreaty. 

A  few  days  later  I  saw  Abe  Wynford, 


108  SEE  YUP 

one  of  the  party,  coming  out  of  See  Yup's 
wash-house.  He  muttered  something  in 
passing  about  the  infamous  delay  in  sending 
home  his  washing,  but  did  not  linger  long 
in  conversation.  The  next  day  I  met  an- 
other miner  at  the  wash-house,  but  he  lin- 
gered so  long  on  some  trifling  details  that 
I  finally  left  him  there  alone  with  See  Yup. 
When  T  called  upon  Poker  Jack  of  Shasta, 
there  was  a  singular  smell  of  incense  in  his 
cabin,  which  he  attributed  to  the  very  resi- 
nous quality  of  the  fir  logs  he  was  burning. 
I  did  not  attempt  to  probe  these  mysteries 
by  any  direct  appeal  to  See  Yup  himself :  I 
respected  his  reticence;  indeed,  if  I  had  not, 
I  was  quite  satisfied  that  he  would  have  lied 
to  me.  Enough  that  his  wash-house  was 
well  patronized,  and  he  was  decidedly  "get- 
ting on." 

It  might  have  been  a  month  afterwards 
that  Dr.  Duchesne  was  setting  a  broken 
bone  in  the  settlement,  and  after  the  opera- 
tion was  over,  had  strolled  into  the  Palmetto 
Saloon.  He  was  an  old  army  surgeon,  much 
respected  and  loved  in  the  district,  although 
perhaps  a  little  feared  for  the  honest  rough- 
ness and  military  precision  of  his  speech. 
After  he  had  exchanged  salutations  with  the 


SEE  YUP  101 

miners  in  his  usual  hearty  fashion,  and  ac- 
cepted their  invitation  to  drink,  Cy  Parker, 
with  a  certain  affected  carelessness  which 
did  not,  however,  conceal  a  singular  hesita- 
tion in  his  speech,  began :  — 

"I  've  been  wantin'  to  ask  ye  a  question, 
Doc, — a  sort  o'  darned  fool  question,  ye 
know,  —  nothing  in  the  way  of  consultation, 
don't  you  see,  though  it 's  kin  er  in  the  way 
o'  your  purfeshun.  Sabe?" 

"Go  on,  Cy,"  said  the  doctor  good-hu- 
moredly,  "this  is  my  dispensary  hour." 

"Oh!  it  ain't  anything  about  symptoms, 
Doc,  and  there  ain't  anything  the  matter 
with  me.  It 's  only  just  to  ask  ye  if  ye 
happened  to  know  anything  about  the  medi- 
cal practice  of  these  yer  Chinamen?" 

"/don't  know,"  said  the  doctor  bluntly, 
"and  I  don't  know  anybody  who  does." 

There  was  a  sudden  silence  in  the  bar, 
and  the  doctor,  putting  down  his  glass,  con- 
tinued with  slight  professional  precision :  — 

"You  see,  the  Chinese  know  nothing  of 
anatomy  from  personal  observation.  Au- 
topsies and  dissection  are  against  their 
superstitions,  which  declare  the  human  body 
sacred,  and  are  consequently  never  prac- 
ticed." 


110  SEE   YUP 

There  was  a  slight  movement  of  inquiring 
interest  among  the  party,  and  Cy  Parker, 
after  a  meaning  glance  at  the  others,  went 
on  half  aggressively,  half  apologetically :  — 

"In  course,  they  ain't  surgeons  like  you, 
Doc,  but  that  don't  keep  them  from  having 
their  own  little  medicines,  just  as  dogs  eat 
grass,  you  know.  Now  I  want  to  put  it  to 
you,  as  a  fa'r-minded  man,  if  you  mean  ter 
say  that,  jest  because  those  old  women  who 
sarve  out  yarbs  and  spring  medicines  in 
families  don't  know  anything  of  anatomy, 
they  ain't  fit  to  give  us  their  simple  and 
nat'ral  medicines?" 

"But  the  Chinese  medicines  are  not  sim- 
ple or  natural,"  said  the  doctor  coolly. 

"Not  simple?  "  echoed  the  party,  closing 
round  him. 

"I  don't  mean  to  say,"  continued  the  doc- 
tor, glancing  around  at  their  eager,  excited 
faces  with  an  appearance  of  wonder,  "that 
they  are  positively  noxious,  unless  taken  in 
large  quantities,  for  they  are  not  drugs  at 
all,  but  I  certainly  should  not  call  them 
'  simple. '  Do  you  know  what  they  princi- 
pally are?" 

"Well,  no,"  said  Parker  cautiously,  "per- 
haps not  exactly." 


SEE   TUP  111 

"Come  a  little  closer,  and  I  '11  tell  you." 

Not  only  Parker's  head  but  the  others 
were  bent  over  the  counter.  Dr.  Duchesne 
uttered  a  few  words  in  a  tone  inaudible  to 
the  rest  of  the  company.  There  was  a  pro- 
found silence,  broken  at  last  by  Abe  Wyn- 
ford's  voice :  — 

"Ye  kin  pour  me  out  about  three  fingers 
o'  whiskey,  Barkeep.  I  '11  take  it  straight." 

"Same  to  me,"  said  the  others. 

The  men  gulped  down  their  liquor;  two 
of  them  quietly  passed  out.  The  doctor 
wiped  his  lips,  buttoned  his  coat,  and  began 
to  draw  on  his  riding-gloves. 

"I  've  heerd,"  said  Poker  Jack  of  Shasta, 
with  a  faint  smile  on  his  white  face,  as  he 
toyed  with  the  last  drops  of  liquor  in  his 
glass,  "that  the  darned  fools  sometimes 
smell  punk  as  a  medicine,  eh?" 

"Yes,  that's  comparatively  decent,"  said 
the  doctor  reflectively.  "It 's  only  sawdust 
mixed  with  a  little  gum  and  formic  acid." 

"Formic  acid?     Wot 's  that ?  " 

"A  very  peculiar  acid  secreted  by  ants. 
It  is  supposed  to  be  used  by  them  offensively 
in  warfare  —  just  as  the  skunk,  eh?  " 

But  Poker  Jack  of  Shasta  had  hurriedly 
declared  that  he  wanted  to  speak  to  a  man 


112  SEE  YUP 

who  was  passing,  and  had  disappeared.  The 
doctor  walked  to  the  door,  mounted  his 
horse,  and  rode  away.  I  noticed,  however, 
that  there  was  a  slight  smile  on  his  bronzed, 
impassive  face.  This  led  me  to  wonder  if 
he  was  entirely  ignorant  of  the  purpose  for 
which  he  had  been  questioned,  and  the  effect 
of  his  information.  I  was  confirmed  in  the 
belief  by  the  remarkable  circumstances  that 
nothing  more  was  said  of  it;  the  incident 
seemed  to  have  terminated  there,  and  the 
victims  made  no  attempt  to  revenge  them- 
selves on  See  Yup.  That  they  had  one  and 
all,  secretly  and  unknown  to  one  another, 
patronized  him,  there  was  no  doubt;  but,  at 
the  same  time,  as  they  evidently  were  not 
sure  that  Dr.  Duchesne  had  not  hoaxed 
them  in  regard  to  the  quality  of  See  Yup's 
medicines,  they  knew  that  an  attack  on  the 
unfortunate  Chinaman  would  in  either  case 
reveal  their  secret  and  expose  them  to  the 
ridicule  of  their  brother  miners.  So  the 
matter  dropped,  and  See  Yup  remained  mas- 
ter of  the  situation. 

Meantime  he  was  prospering.  The  coolie 
gang  he  worked  on  the  river,  when  not  en- 
gaged in  washing  clothes,  were  "picking 
over"  the  "tailings,"  or  refuse  of  gravel, 


SEE  YUP 

left  on  abandoned  claims  by  successful  min- 
ers. As  there  was  no  more  expense  attend- 
ing this  than  in  stone-breaking  or  rag-pick- 
ing, and  the  feeding  of  the  coolies,  which 
was  ridiculously  cheap,  there  was  no  doubt 
that  See  Yup  was  reaping  a  fair  weekly  re- 
turn from  it ;  but,  as  he  sent  his  receipts  to 
San  Francisco  through  coolie  managers,  after 
the  Chinese  custom,  and  did  not  use  the 
regular  Express  Company,  there  was  no  way 
of  ascertaining  the  amount.  Again,  neither 
See  Yup  nor  his  fellow  countrymen  ever  ap- 
peared to  have  any  money  about  them.  In 
ruder  times  and  more  reckless  camps,  raids 
were  often  made  by  ruffians  on  their  cabins 
or  their  traveling  gangs,  but  never  with 
any  pecuniary  result.  This  condition,  how- 
ever, it  seemed  was  destined  to  change. 

One  Saturday  See  Yup  walked  into  Wells, 
Fargo  &  Co.'s  Express  office  with  a  pack- 
age of  gold-dust,  which,  when  duly  weighed, 
was  valued  at  five  hundred  dollars.     It  was 
consigned   to   a  Chinese   company  in   San 
Francisco.     "When    the   clerk   handed   See 
Yup  a  receipt,  he  remarked  casually :  — 
"Washing  seems  to  pay,  See  Yup." 
"Washee  velly  good  pay.     You  wantee 
washee,  John?"  said  See  Yup  eagerly. 


114  SEE   YUP 

"No,  no,"  said  the  clerk,  with  a  laugh. 
"I  was  only  thinking  five  hundred  dollars 
would  represent  the  washing  of  a  good  many 
shirts." 

"No  leplesent  washee  shirts  at  all! 
Catchee  gold-dust  when  washee  tailings. 
Shabbee?" 

The  clerk  did  "shabbee,"  and  lifted  his 
eyebrows.  The  next  Saturday  See  Yup  ap- 
peared with  another  package,  worth  about 
four  hundred  dollars,  directed  to  the  same 
consignee. 

"Didn't  pan  out  quite  so  rich  this  week, 
eh?  "  said  the  clerk  engagingly. 

"No,"  returned  See  Yup  impassively; 
"next  time  he  payee  more." 

When  the  third  Saturday  came,  with  the 
appearance  of  See  Yup  and  four  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars'  worth  of  gold-dust,  the 
clerk  felt  he  was  no  longer  bound  to  keep 
the  secret.  He  communicated  it  to  others, 
and  in  twenty -four  hours  the  whole  settle- 
ment knew  that  See  Yup's  coolie  company 
were  taking  out  an  average  of  four  hun- 
dred dollars  per  week  from  the  refuse  and 
tailings  of  the  old  abandoned  Palmetto 
claim! 

The  astonishment  of  the  settlement  was 


SEE   YUP  115 

profound.  In  earlier  days  jealousy  and  in- 
dignation at  the  success  of  these  degraded 
heathens  might  have  taken  a  more  active 
and  aggressive  shape,  and  it  would  have 
fared  ill  with  See  Yup  and  his  companions. 
But  the  settlement  had  become  more  pro- 
sperous and  law-abiding;  there  were  one  or 
two  Eastern  families  and  some  foreign  capi- 
tal already  there,  and  its  jealousy  and  indig- 
nation were  restricted  to  severe  investigation 
and  legal  criticism.  Fortunately  for  See 
Yup,  it  was  an  old-established  mining  law 
that  an  abandoned  claim  and  its  tailings  be- 
came the  property  of  whoever  chose  to  work 
it.  But  it  was  alleged  that  See  Yup's  com- 
pany had  in  reality  "struck  a  lead,"  —  dis- 
covered a  hitherto  unknown  vein  or  original 
deposit  of  gold,  not  worked  by  the  previous 
company,  —  and  having  failed  legally  to  de- 
clare it  by  preemption  and  public  registry, 
in  their  foolish  desire  for  secrecy,  had  thus 
forfeited  their  right  to  the  property.  A 
surveillance  of  their  working,  however,  did 
not  establish  this  theory;  the  gold  that  See 
Yup  had  sent  away  was  of  the  kind  that 
might  have  been  found  in  the  tailings  over- 
looked by  the  late  Palmetto  owners.  Yet  it 
was  a  very  large  yield  for  mere  refuse. 


116  SEE  TUP 

"Them  Palmetto  boys  were  mighty  keer- 
less  after  they  'd  made  their  big  4  strike ' 
and  got  to  work  on  the  vein,  and  I  reckon 
they  threw  a  lot  of  gold  away,"  said  Cy 
Parker,  who  remembered  their  large-handed 
recklessness  in  the  "flush  days."  "On'y 
that  we  didn't  think  it  was  white  man's 
work  to  rake  over  another  man's  leavin's, 
we  might  hev  had  what  them  derned  China- 
men hev  dropped  into.  Tell  ye  what,  boys, 
we  've  been  a  little  too  '  high  and  mighty, ' 
and  we  '11  hev  to  climb  down." 

At  last  the  excitement  reached  its  climax, 
and  diplomacy  was  employed  to  effect  what 
neither  intimidation  nor  espionage  could  se- 
cure. Under  the  pretense  of  desiring  to 
buy  out  See  Yup's  company,  a  select  com- 
mittee of  the  miners  was  permitted  to  exam- 
ine the  property  and  its  workings.  They 
found  the  great  bank  of  stones  and  gravel, 
representing  the  cast-out  debris  of  the  old 
claim,  occupied  by  See  Yup  and  four  or  five 
plodding  automatic  coolies.  At  the  end  of 
two  hours  the  committee  returned  to  the  sa- 
loon bursting  with  excitement.  They  spoke 
under  their  breath,  but  enough  was  gathered 
to  satisfy  the  curious  crowd  that  See  Yup's 
pile  of  tailings  was  rich  beyond  their  expec- 


SEE   YUP  117 

tations.  The  committee  had  seen  with  their 
own  eyes  gold  taken  out  of  the  sand  and 
gravel  to  the  amount  of  twenty  dollars  in 
the  two  short  hours  of  their  examination. 
And  the  work  had  been  performed  in  the 
stupidest,  clumsiest,  yet  patient  Chinese 
way.  What  might  not  white  men  do  with 
better  appointed  machinery!  A  syndicate 
was  at  once  formed.  See  Yup  was  offered 
twenty  thousand  dollars  if  he  would  sell  out 
and  put  the  syndicate  in  possession  of  the 
claim  in  twenty -four  hours.  The  Chinaman 
received  the  offer  stolidly.  As  he  seemed 
inclined  to  hesitate,  I  am  grieved  to  say  that 
it  was  intimated  to  him  that  if  he  declined 
he  might  be  subject  to  embarrassing  and 
expensive  legal  proceedings  to  prove  his 
property,  and  that  companies  would  be 
formed  to  "prospect"  the  ground  on  either 
side  of  his  heap  of  tailings.  See  Yup  at 
last  consented,  with  the  proviso  that  the 
money  should  be  paid  in  gold  into  the  hands 
of  a  Chinese  agent  in  San  Francisco  on  the 
day  of  the  delivery  of  the  claim.  The  syn- 
dicate made  no  opposition  to  this  character- 
istic precaution  of  the  Chinaman.  It  was 
like  them  not  to  travel  with  money,  and  the 
implied  uncomplimentary  suspicion  of  dange* 


118  SEE  YUP 

from  the  community  was  overlooked.  See 
Yup  departed  the  day  that  the  syndicate 
took  possession.  He  came  to  see  me  before 
he  went.  I  congratulated  him  upon  his  good 
fortune;  at  the  same  time,  I  was  embar- 
rassed by  the  conviction  that  he  was  unfairly 
forced  into  a  sale  of  his  property  at  a  figure 
far  below  its  real  value. 

I  think  differently  now. 

At  the  end  of  the  week  it  was  said  that 
the  new  company  cleared  up  about  three 
hundred  dollars.  This  was  not  so  much  as 
the  community  had  expected,  but  the  syndi- 
cate was  apparently  satisfied,  and  the  new 
machinery  was  put  up.  At  the  end  of  the 
next  week  the  syndicate  were  silent  as  to 
their  returns.  One  of  them  made  a  hurried 
visit  to  San  Francisco.  It  was  said  that  he 
was  unable  to  see  either  See  Yup  or  the 
agent  to  whom  the  money  was  paid.  It  was 
also  noticed  that  there  was  no  Chinaman 
remaining  in  the  settlement.  Then  the  fatal 
secret  was  out. 

The  heap  of  tailings  had  probably  never 
yielded  the  See  Yup  company  more  than 
twenty  dollars  a  week,  the  ordinary  wage  of 
such  a  company.  See  Yup  had  conceived 
the  brilliant  idea  of  "booming  "  it  on  a  bor- 


SEE  YUP  119 

rowed  capital  of  five  hundred  dollars  in  gold- 
dust,  which  he  openly  transmitted  by  ex- 
press to  his  confederate  and  creditor  in  San 
Francisco,  who  in  turn  secretly  sent  it  back 
to  See  Yup  by  coolie  messengers,  to  be 
again  openly  transmitted  to  San  Francisco. 
The  package  of  gold-dust  was  thus  passed 
backwards  and  forwards  between  debtor  and 
creditor,  to  the  grave  edification  of  the  Ex- 
press Company  and  the  fatal  curiosity  of 
the  settlement.  When  the  syndicate  had 
gorged  the  bait  thus  thrown  out,  See  Yup, 
on  the  day  the  self-invited  committee  in- 
spected the  claim,  promptly  "salted"  the 
tailings  by  conscientiously  distributing  the 
gold-dust  over  it  so  deftly  that  it  appeared 
to  be  its  natural  composition  and  yield. 

I  have  only  to  bid  farewell  to  See  Yup, 
and  close  this  reminiscence  of  a  misunder- 
stood man,  by  adding  the  opinion  of  an  emi- 
nent jurist  in  San  Francisco,  to  whom  the 
facts  were  submitted:  "So  clever  was  this 
alleged  fraud,  that  it  is  extremely  doubtful 
if  an  action  would  lie  against  See  Yup  in 
the  premises,  there  being  no  legal  evidence 
of  the  *  salting, '  and  none  whatever  of  his 
actual  allegation  that  the  gold-dust  was  the 
ordinary  yield  of  the  tailings,  that  implica- 


120  SEE  YUP 

tion  resting  entirely  with  the  committee  who 
examined  it  under  false  pretense,  and  who 
subsequently  forced  the  sale  by  intimida- 
tion." 


THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS 

"THEN  it  isn't  a  question  of  property  or 
next  of  kin?  "  said  the  consul. 

"Lord!  no,"  said  the  lady  vivaciously. 
"Why,  goodness  me!  I  reckon  old  Des- 
borough  could,  at  any  time  before  he  died, 
have  '  bought  up  '  or  '  bought  out '  the  whole 
lot  of  his  relatives  on  this  side  of  the  big 
pond,  no  matter  what  they  were  worth. 
No,  it 's  only  a  matter  of  curiosity  and  just 
sociableness." 

The  American  consul  at  St.  Kentigorn 
felt  much  relieved.  He  had  feared  it  was 
only  the  old  story  of  delusive  quests  for  im- 
aginary estates  and  impossible  inheritances 
which  he  had  confronted  so  often  in  nervous 
wan-eyed  enthusiasts  and  obstreperous  claim- 
ants from  his  own  land.  Certainly  there 
was  no  suggestion  of  this  in  the  richly 
dressed  and  be-diamonded  matron  before 
him,  nor  in  her  pretty  daughter,  charming 
in  a  Paris  frock,  alive  with  the  consciousness 
of  beauty  and  admiration,  and  yet  a  little 


122      THE  DESBOKOUGH  CONNECTIONS 

ennuye  from  gratified  indulgence.  He  knew 
the  mother  to  be  the  wealthy  widow  of  a 
New  York  millionaire,  that  she  was  travel- 
ing for  pleasure  in  Europe,  and  a  chance 
meeting  with  her  at  dinner  a  few  nights  be- 
fore had  led  to  this  half -capricious,  half- 
confidential  appointment  at  the  consulate. 

"No,"  continued  Mrs.  Desborough;  "Mr. 
Desborough  came  to  America,  when  a  small 
boy,  with  an  uncle  who  died  some  years  ago. 
Mr.  Desborough  never  seemed  to  hanker 
much  after  his  English  relatives  as  long  as 
I  knew  him,  but  now  that  I  and  Sadie  are 
over  here,  why  we  guessed  we  might  look 
'em  up  and  sort  of  sample  'em !  '  Desbor- 
ough '  's  rather  a  good  name,"  added  the 
lady,  with  a  complacency  that,  however,  had 
a  suggestion  of  query  in  it. 

"Yes,"  said  the  consul;  "from  the  French, 
I  fancy." 

"  Mr.  Desborough  was  English  —  very 
English,"  corrected  the  lady. 

"I  mean  it  may  be  an  old  Norman  name," 
said  the  consul. 

"Norman  's  good  enough  for  me,"  said 
the  daughter,  reflecting.  "  We  '11  just  set- 
tle it  as  Norman.  I  never  thought  about 
that  Des." 


THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS     123 

"Only  you  may  find  it  called  s  Debbor- 
ough '  here,  and  spelt  so,"  said  the  consul, 
smiling. 

Miss  Desborough  lifted  her  pretty  shoul- 
ders and  made  a  charming  grimace.  "  Then 
we  won't  acknowledge  'em.  No  Debbor- 
ough  for  me !  " 

"You  might  put  an  advertisement  in  the 
papers,  like  the  '  next  of  kin  '  notice,  inti- 
mating, in  the  regular  way,  that  they  would 
'  hear  of  something  to  their  advantage  '  — 
as  they  certainly  would,"  continued  the  con- 
sul, with  a  bow.  "It  would  be  such  a  re- 
freshing change  to  the  kind  of  thing  I  'm 
accustomed  to,  don't  you  know  —  this  idea 
of  one  of  my  countrywomen  coming  over 
just  to  benefit  English  relatives !  By  Jove ! 
I  would  n't  mind  undertaking  the  whole 
thing  for  you  —  it's  such  a  novelty."  He 
was  quite  carried  away  with  the  idea. 

But  the  two  ladies  were  far  from  partici- 
pating in  this  joyous  outlook.  "No,"  said 
Mrs.  Desborough  promptly,  "that  wouldn't 
do.  You  see,"  she  went  on  with  superb 
frankness,  "that  would  be  just  giving  our- 
selves away,  and  saying  who  we  were  before 
we  found  out  what  they  were  like.  Mr. 
Desborough  was  all  right  in  his  way,  but  we 


124      THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS 

don't  know  anything  about  his  folks  !  We 
ain't  here  on  a  mission  to  improve  the  Des- 
boroughs,  nor  to  gather  in  any '  lost  tribes. ' ' 
It  was  evident  that,  in  spite  oi  the  humor 
of  the  situation  and  the  levity  of  the  ladies, 
there  was  a  characteristic  national  practical- 
ness about  them,  and  the  consul,  with  a 
sigh,  at  last  gave  the  address  of  one  or  two 
responsible  experts  in  genealogical  inquiry, 
as  he  had  often  done  before.  He  felt  it 
was  impossible  to  offer  any  advice  to  ladies 
as  thoroughly  capable  of  managing  their 
own  affairs  as  his  fair  countrywomen,  yet  he 
was  not  without  some  curiosity  to  know  the 
result  of  their  practical  sentimental  quest. 
That  he  should  ever  hear  of  them  again  he 
doubted.  He  knew  that  after  their  first 
loneliness  had  worn  off  in  their  gregarious 
gathering  at  a  London  hotel  they  were  not 
likely  to  consort  with  their  own  country  peo- 
ple, who  indeed  were  apt  to  fight  shy  of 
one  another,  and  even  to  indulge  in  invidious 
criticism  of  one  another  when  admitted  in 
that  society  to  which  they  were  all  equally 
strangers.  So  he  took  leave  of  them  on 
their  way  back  to  London  with  the  belief 
that  their  acquaintance  terminated  with  that 
brief  incident.  But  he  was  mistaken. 


THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS     125 

In  the  year  following  he  was  spending  his 
autumn  vacation  at  a  country  house.  It 
was  an  historic  house,  and  had  always  struck 
him  as  being  —  even  in  that  country  of  his- 
toric seats  —  a  singular  example  of  the  vicis- 
situdes of  English  manorial  estates  and  the 
mutations  of  its  lords.  His  host  in  his 
prime  had  been  recalled  from  foreign  service 
to  unexpectedly  succeed  to  an  uncle's  title 
and  estate.  That  estate,  however,  had  come 
into  the  possession  of  the  uncle  only  through 
his  marriage  with  the  daughter  of  an  old 
family  whose  portraits  still  looked  down 
from  the  walls  upon  the  youngest  and  alien 
branch.  There  were  likenesses,  effigies, 
memorials,  and  reminiscences  of  still  older 
families  who  had  occupied  it  through  for- 
feiture by  war  or  the  favoritism  of  kings, 
and  in  its  stately  cloisters  and  ruined  chapel 
was  still  felt  the  dead  hand  of  its  evicted  re- 
ligious founders,  which  could  not  be  shaken 
off. 

It  was  this  strange  individuality  that  af- 
fected all  who  saw  it.  For,  however  changed 
were  those  within  its  walls,  whoever  were 
its  inheritors  or  inhabiters,  Scrooby  Priory 
never  changed  nor  altered  its  own  character. 
However  incongruous  or  ill-assorted  the  por- 


126      THE  DESBOKOUGH  CONNECTIONS 

traits  that  looked  from  its  walls,  —  so  ill  met 
that  they  might  have  flown  at  one  another's 
throats  in  the  long  nights  when  the  family 
were  away,  —  the  great  house  itself  was  in- 
dependent of  them  all.  The  be-wigged,  be- 
laced,  and  be-furbelowed  of  one  day's  gath- 
ering, the  round-headed,  steel-fronted,  and 
prim -kerchief  ed  congregation  of  another  day, 
and  even  the  black-coated,  bare-armed,  and 
bare-shouldered  assemblage  of  to-day  had  no 
effect  on  the  austerities  of  the  Priory.  Mod- 
ern houses  might  show  the  tastes  and  prepos- 
sessions of  their  dwellers,  might  have  caught 
some  passing  trick  of  the  hour,  or  have  re- 
corded the  augmented  fortunes  or  luxurious- 
ness  of  the  owner,  but  Scrooby  Priory  never ! 
No  one  had  dared  even  to  disturb  its  outer 
rigid  integrity;  the  breaches  of  time  and 
siege  were  left  untouched.  It  held  its  calm 
indifferent  sway  over  all  who  passed  its  low- 
arched  portals,  and  the  consul  was  fain  to 
•believe  that  he  —  a  foreign  visitor  —  was  no 
xnore  alien  to  the  house  than  its  present 
owner. 

"I  'm  expecting  a  very  charming  compa» 
triot  of  yours  to-morrow,"  said  Lord  Bever- 
dale  as  they  drove  from  the  station  together. 
"You  must  tell  me  what  to  show  her." 


THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS     127 

"I  should  think  any  countrywoman  of 
mine  would  be  quite  satisfied  with  the  Pri- 
ory," said  the  consul,  glancing  thoughtfully 
towards  the  pile  dimly  seen  through  the 
park. 

"I  shouldn't  like  her  to  be  bored  here," 
continued  Beverdale.  "Algy  met  her  at 
Eome,  where  she  was  occupying  a  palace 
with  her  mother  —  they  're  very  rich,  you 
know.  He  found  she  was  staying  with  Lady 
Minever  at  Hedham  Towers,  and  I  went 
over  and  invited  her  with  a  little  party. 
She  's  a  Miss  Desborough." 

The  consul  gave  a  slight  start,  and  was 
aware  that  Beverdale  was  looking  at  him. 

"  Perhaps  you  know  her  ?  "  said  Beverdale. 

"Just  enough  to  agree  with  you  that  she 
is  charming,"  said  the  consul.  "I  dined 
with  them,  and  saw  them  at  the  consulate." 

"Oh  yes;  I  always  forget  you  are  a  con- 
sul. Then,  of  course,  you  know  all  about 
them.  I  suppose  they  're  very  rich,  and  in 
society  over  there?"  said  Beverdale  in  a 
voice  that  was  quite  animated. 

It  was  on  the  consul's  lips  to  say  that  the 
late  Mr.  Desborough  was  an  Englishman, 
and  even  to  speak  playfully  of  their  pro- 
posed quest,  but  a  sudden  instinct  withheld 


128      THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS 

him.  After  all,  perhaps  it  was  only  a  ca« 
price,  or  idea,  they  had  forgotten, —  perhaps, 
who  knows  ?  —  that  they  were  already 
ashamed  of.  They  had  evidently  "got  on" 
in  English  society,  if  that  was  their  real  in- 
tent, and  doubtless  Miss  Desborough,  by  this 
time,  was  quite  as  content  with  the  chance 
of  becoming  related  to  the  Earl  of  Bever- 
dale,  through  his  son  and  heir,  Algernon,  as 
if  they  had  found  a  real  Lord  Desborough 
among  their  own  relatives.  The  consul  knew 
that  Lord  Beverdale  was  not  a  rich  man, 
that  like  most  men  of  old  family  he  was  not 
a  slave  to  class  prejudice ;  indeed,  the  con- 
sul had  seen  very  few  noblemen  off  the  stage 
or  out  of  the  pages  of  a  novel  who  were. 
So  he  said,  with  a  slight  affectation  of  au- 
thority, that  there  was  as  little  doubt  of  the 
young  lady's  wealth  as  there  was  of  her  per- 
sonal attractions. 

They  were  nearing  the  house  through  a 
long  avenue  of  chestnuts  whose  variegated 
leaves  were  already  beginning  to  strew  the 
ground  beneath,  and  they  could  see  the  vista 
open  upon  the  mullioned  windows  of  the 
Priory,  lighted  up  by  the  yellow  October 
sunshine.  In  that  sunshine  stood  a  tall, 
clean-limbed  young  fellow,  dressed  in  a 


THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS     129 

shooting-suit,  whom  the  consul  recognized 
at  once  as  Lord  Algernon,  the  son  of  his 
companion.  As  if  to  accent  the  graces  of 
this  vision  of  youth  and  vigor,  near  him,  in 
the  shadow,  an  old  man  had  halted,  hat  in 
hand,  still  holding  the  rake  with  which  he 
had  been  gathering  the  dead  leaves  in  the 
avenue;  his  back  bent,  partly  with  years, 
partly  with  the  obeisance  of  a  servitor. 
There  was  something  so  marked  in  this  con- 
trast, in  this  old  man  standing  in  the  shadow 
of  the  fading  year,  himself  as  dried  and  with- 
ered as  the  leaves  he  was  raking,  yet  paus- 
ing to  make  his  reverence  to  this  passing 
sunshine  of  youth  and  prosperity  in  the  pre- 
sence of  his  coming  master,  that  the  consul, 
as  they  swept  by,  looked  after  him  with  a 
stirring  of  pain. 

"Rather  an  old  man  to  be  still  at  work," 
said  the  consul. 

Beverdale  laughed.  "You  must  not  let 
him  hear  you  say  so;  he  considers  himself 
quite  as  fit  as  any  younger  man  in  the  place, 
and,  by  Jove!  though  he's  nearly  eighty, 
I  'm  inclined  to  believe  it.  He  's  not  one  of 
our  people,  however;  he  comes  from  the  vil- 
lage, and  is  taken  on  at  odd  times,  partly  to 
please  himself.  His  great  aim  is  to  be  in- 


130      THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS 

dependent  of  his  children,  —  he  has  a  grand- 
daughter who  is  one  of  the  maids  at  the 
Priory,  —  and  to  keep  himself  out  of  the 
workhouse.  He  does  not  come  from  these 
parts  —  somewhere  farther  north,  I  fancy. 
But  he  's  a  tough  iot,  ana  has  a  deal  of 
work  in  him  yet." 

"Seems  to  be  going  a  bit  stale  lately," 
said  Lord  Algernon,  "and  I  think  is  getting 
a  little  queer  in  nis  head.  He  has  a  trick 
of  stopping  and  staring  straight  ahead,  at 
times,  when  he  seems  to  go  off  for  a  minute 
or  two.  There!  "  continued  the  young  man, 
with  a  light  laugh.  "I  say!  he  's  doing  it 
now !  "  They  both  turned  quickly  and  gazed 
at  the  bent  figure  —  not  fifty  yards  away  — 
standing  in  exactly  the  same  attitude  as  be- 
fore. But,  even  as  they  gazed,  he  slowly 
lifted  his  rake  and  began  his  monotonous 
work  again. 

At  Scrooby  Priory,  the  consul  found  that 
the  fame  of  his  fair  countrywoman  had  in- 
deed preceded  her,  and  that  the  other  guests 
were  quite  as  anxious  to  see  Miss  Desbor- 
ough  as  he  was.  One  of  them  had  already 
met  her  in  London;  another  knew  her  as 
one  of  the  house  party  at  the  Duke  of  North- 
foreland's,  where  she  had  been  a  central  fig- 


THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS     131 

ure.  Some  of  her  nai've  sallies  and  frank 
criticisms  were  repeated  with  great  unction 
by  the  gentlemen,  and  with  some  slight  trep- 
idation and  a  "fearful  joy"  by  the  ladies. 
He  was  more  than  ever  convinced  that  mo- 
ther and  daughter  had  forgotten  their  lineal 
Desboroughs,  and  he  resolved  to  leave  any 
allusion  to  it  to  the  young  lady  herself. 

She,  however,  availed  herself  of  that  privi- 
lege the  evening  after  her  arrival.  "Who  'd 
have  thought  of  meeting  you  here?"  she 
said,  sweeping  her  skirts  away  to  make  room 
for  him  on  a  sofa.  "It 's  a  coon's  age  since 
I  saw  you  —  not  since  you  gave  us  that  letter 
to  those  genealogical  gentlemen  in  London." 

The  consul  hoped  that  it  had  proved  suc- 
cessful. 

"Yes,  but  maw  guessed  we  didn't  care 
to  go  back  to  Hengist  and  Horsa,  and  when 
they  let  loose  a  lot  of  '  Debboroughs  '  and 
'  Daybrooks  '  upon  us,  maw  kicked !  We  've 
got  a  drawing  ten  yards  long,  that  looks  like 
a  sour  apple  tree,  with  lots  of  Desboroughs 
hanging  up  on  the  branches  like  last  year's 
pippins,  and  I  guess  about  as  worm-eaten. 
We  took  that  well  enough,  but  when  it  came 
to  giving  us  a  map  of  straight  lines  and 
dashes  with  names  written  under  them  like 


132      THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS 

an  old  Morse  telegraph  slip,  struck  by  light- 
ning, then  maw  and  I  guessed  that  it  made 
us  tired. 

"You  know,"  she  went  on,  opening  her 
clear  gray  eyes  on  the  consul,  with  a  charac- 
teristic flash  of  shrewd  good  sense  through 
her  quaint  humor,  "we  never  reckoned 
where  this  thing  would  land  us,  and  we 
found  we  were  paying  a  hundred  pounds, 
not  only  for  the  Desboroughs,  but  all  the 
people  they  'd  married,  and  their  children, 
and  children's  children,  and  there  were  a  lot 
of  outsiders  we  'd  never  heard  of,  nor  wanted 
to  hear  of.  Maw  once  thought  she  'd  got 
on  the  trail  of  a  Plantagenet,  and  followed 
it  keen,  until  she  found  she  had  been  read- 
ing the  dreadful  thing  upside  down.  Then 
we  concluded  we  wouldn't  take  any  more 
stock  in  the  family  until  it  had  risen." 

During  this  speech  the  consul  could  not 
help  noticing  that,  although  her  attitude  was 
playfully  confidential  to  him,  her  voice  really 
was  pitched  high  enough  to  reach  the  ears 
of  smaller  groups  around  her,  who  were  not 
only  following  her  with  the  intensest  admi- 
ration, but  had  shamelessly  abandoned  their 
own  conversation,  and  had  even  faced  towards 
her.  Was  she  really  posing  in  her  naivete? 


THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS      133 

There  was  a  certain  mischievous,  even  ag- 
gressive, consciousness  in  her  pretty  eyelids. 
Then  she  suddenly  dropped  both  eyes  and 
voice,  and  said  to  the  consul  in  a  genuine 
aside,  "I  like  this  sort  of  thing  much  bet- 
ter." 

The  consul  looked  puzzled.  "  What  sort 
of  thing?" 

"Why,  all  these  swell  people,  don't  you 
see?  those  pictures  on  the  walls!  this  elegant 
room !  everything  that  has  come  down  from 
the  past,  all  ready  and  settled  for  you,  you 
know  —  ages  ago!  Something  you  have  n't 
to  pick  up  for  yourself  and  worry  over." 

But  here  the  consul  pointed  out  that  the 
place  itself  was  not  "ancestral "  as  regarded 
the  present  earl,  and  that  even  the  original 
title  of  his  predecessors  had  passed  away 
from  it.  "In  fact,  it  came  into  the  family 
by  one  of  those  '  outsiders '  you  deprecate. 
But  I  dare  say  you  'd  find  the  place  quite  as 
comfortable  with  Lord  Beverdale  for  a  host 
as  you  would  if  you  had  found  out  he  were 
a  cousin,"  he  added. 

"Better,"  said  the  young  lady  frankly. 

"I  suppose  your  mother  participates  in 
these  preferences?"  said  the  consul,  with  a 
smile. 


134      THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS 

"No,"  said  Miss  Desborough,  with  the 
same  frankness,  "I  think  maw  's  rather  cut 
up  at  not  finding  a  Desborough.  She  was 
invited  down  here,  but  she  's  rather  inde- 
pendent, you  know,  so  she  allowed  I  could 
take  care  of  myself,  while  she  went  off  to 
stay  with  the  old  Dowager  Lady  Mistowe, 
who  thinks  maw  a  very  proper  womanly 
person.  I  made  maw  mad  by  telling  her 
that 's  just  what  old  Lady  Mistowe  would 
say  of  her  cook  —  for  I  can't  stand  these 
people's  patronage.  However,  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  I  was  invited  here  as  a  '  most  origi- 
nal person. ' ' 

But  here  Lord  Algernon  came  up  to  im- 
plore her  to  sing  them  one  of  "  those  planta- 
tion songs;"  and  Miss  Desborough,  with 
scarcely  a  change  of  voice  or  manner,  al- 
lowed herself  to  be  led  to  the  piano.  The 
consul  had  little  chance  to  speak  with  her 
again,  but  he  saw  enough  that  evening  to 
convince  him  not  only  that  Lord  Algernon 
was  very  much  in  love  with  her,  but  that  the 
fact  had  been  equally  and  complacently  ac- 
cepted by  the  family  and  guests.  That  her 
present  visit  was  only  an  opportunity  for  a 
formal  engagement  was  clear  to  every  woman 
in  the  house  —  not  excepting,  I  fear,  even 


THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS     135 

the  fair  subject  of  gossip  herself.  Yet  she 
seemed  so  unconcerned  and  self-contained 
that  the  consul  wondered  if  she  really  cared 
for  Lord  Algernon.  And  having  thus  won- 
dered, he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it 
did  n't  much  matter,  for  the  happiness  of  so 
practically  organized  a  young  lady,  if  she 
loved  him  or  not. 

It  is  highly  probable  that  Miss  Sadie  Des- 
borough  had  not  even  gone  so  far  as  to  ask 
herself  that  question.  She  awoke  the  next 
morning  with  a  sense  of  easy  victory  and 
calm  satisfaction  that  had,  however,  none  of 
the  transports  of  affection.  Her  taste  was 
satisfied  by  the  love  of  a  handsome  young 
fellow,  —  a  typical  Englishman,  —  who,  if 
not  exactly  original  or  ideal,  was,  she  felt, 
of  an  universally  accepted,  "hall-marked" 
standard,  the  legitimate  outcome  of  a  highly 
ordered,  carefully  guarded  civilization,  whose 
repose  was  the  absence  of  struggle  or  ambi- 
tion ;  a  man  whose  regular  features  were  not 
yet  differentiated  from  the  rest  of  his  class 
by  any  of  those  disturbing  lines  which  peo- 
ple call  character.  Everything  was  made 
ready  for  her,  without  care  or  preparation ; 
she  had  not  even  an  ideal  to  realize  or  to 
modify.  She  could  slip  without  any  jar  or 


136      THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS 

dislocation  into  this  life  which  was  just  saved 
from  self-indulgence  and  sybaritic  luxury  by 
certain  conventional  rules  of  activity  and 
the  occupation  of  amusement  which,  as  obli- 
gations of  her  position,  even  appeared  to 
suggest  the  novel  aspect  of  a  duty!  She 
could  accept  all  this  without  the  sense  of  be- 
ing an  intruder  in  an  unbroken  lineage  — 
thanks  to  the  consul's  account  of  the  Bever- 
dales'  inheritance.  She  already  pictured 
herself  as  the  mistress  of  this  fair  domain, 
the  custodian  of  its  treasures  and  traditions, 
and  the  dispenser  of  its  hospitalities,  but  — 
as  she  conscientiously  believed  —  without 
pride  or  vanity,  in  her  position;  only  an 
intense  and  thoughtful  appreciation  of  it. 
Nor  did  she  dream  of  ever  displaying  it  os- 
tentatiously before  her  less  fortunate  fellow 
countrywomen;  on  the  contrary,  she  looked 
forward  to  their  possible  criticism  of  her 
casting  off  all  transatlantic  ties  with  an  un- 
easy consciousness  that  was  perhaps  her 
nearest  approach  to  patriotism.  Yet,  again, 
she  reasoned  that,  as  her  father  was  an  Eng- 
lishman, she  was  only  returning  to  her  old 
home.  As  to  her  mother,  she  had  already 
comforted  herself  by  noticing  certain  dis- 
crepancies in  that  lady's  temperament,  which 


THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS     137 

led  her  to  believe  that  she  herself  alone  in- 
herited her  father's  nature  —  for  her  mother 
was,  of  course,  distinctly  American!  So 
little  conscious  was  she  of  any  possible  snob- 
bishness in  this  belief,  that  in  her  superb 
naivete  she  would  have  argued  the  point  with 
the  consul,  and  employed  a  wit  and  dialect 
that  were  purely  American. 

She  had  slipped  out  of  the  Priory  early 
that  morning  that  she  might  enjoy  alone, 
unattended  and  unciceroned,  the  aspect  of 
that  vast  estate  which  might  be  hers  for  the 
mere  accepting.  Perhaps  there  was  some 
instinct  of  delicacy  in  her  avoiding  Lord 
Algernon  that  morning ;  not  wishing,  as  she 
herself  might  have  frankly  put  it,  "to  take 
stock"  of  his  inheritance  in  his  presence. 
As  she  passed  into  the  garden  through  the 
low  postern  door,  she  turned  to  look  along 
the  stretching  fa$ade  of  the  main  building, 
with  the  high  stained  windows  of  its  ban- 
queting-hall  and  the  state  chamber  where  a 
king  had  slept.  Even  in  that  crisp  Octo- 
ber air,  and  with  the  green  of  its  ivied  bat- 
tlements against  the  gold  of  the  distant 
wood,  it  seemed  to  lie  in  the  languid  repose 
of  an  eternal  summer.  She  hurried  on  down 
the  other  terrace  into  the  Italian  garden,  a 


138      THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS 

quaint  survival  of  past  grandeur,  passed  the 
great  orangery  and  numerous  conservatories, 
making  a  crystal  hamlet  in  themselves  — 
seeing  everywhere  the  same  luxury.  But 
it  was  a  luxury  that  she  fancied  was  re- 
deemed from  the  vulgarity  of  ostentation 
by  the  long  custom  of  years  and  generations, 
so  unlike  the  millionaire  palaces  of  her  own 
land ;  and,  in  her  enthusiasm,  she  even  fan- 
cied it  was  further  sanctified  by  the  grim 
monastic  founders  who  had  once  been  con- 
tent with  bread  and  pulse  in  the  crumbling 
and  dismantled  refectory.  In  the  plenitude 
of  her  feelings  she  felt  a  slight  recognition 
of  some  beneficent  being  who  had  rolled  this 
golden  apple  at  her  feet,  and  felt  as  if  she 
really  should  like  to  "do  good  "  in  her 
sphere. 

It  so  chanced  that,  passing  through  a 
small  gate  in  the  park,  she  saw  walking,  a 
little  ahead  of  her,  a  young  girl  whom  she 
at  once  recognized  as  a  Miss  Amelyn,  one 
of  the  guests  of  the  evening  before.  Miss 
Desborough  remembered  that  she  played  the 
accompaniment  of  one  or  two  songs  upon  the 
piano,  and  had  even  executed  a  long  solo 
during  the  general  conversation,  without  at- 
tention from  the  others,  and  apparently  with 


THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS      139 

little  irritation  to  herself,  subsiding  after- 
wards into  an  armchair,  quite  on  the  fringe 
of  other  people's  conversation.  She  had 
been  called  "my  dear"  by  one  or  two  dow- 
agers, and  by  her  Christian  name  by  the 
earl,  and  had  a  way  of  impalpably  melting 
out  of  sight  at  times.  These  trifles  led  Miss 
Desborough  to  conclude  that  she  was  some 
kind  of  dependent  or  poor  relation.  Here 
was  an  opportunity  to  begin  her  work  of 
"doing  good."  She  quickened  her  pace  and 
overtook  Miss  Amelyn. 

"Let  me  walk  with  you,"  she  said  gra- 
ciously. 

The  young  English  girl  smiled  assent,  but 
looked  her  surprise  at  seeing  the  cynosure 
of  last  night's  eyes  unattended. 

"Oh,"  said  Sadie,  answering  the  mute 
query,  "I  didn't  want  to  be  '  shown  round  ' 
by  anybody,  and  I  'm  not  going  to  bore  you 
with  asking  to  see  sights  either.  We  '11  just 
walk  together ;  wherever  you  're  going  is 
good  enough  for  me." 

"I'm  going  as  far  as  the  village,"  said 
Miss  Amelyn,  looking  down  doubtfully  at 
Sadie's  smart  French  shoes — "if  you  care 
to  walk  so  far." 

Sadie   noticed   that    her  companion   was 


140      THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS 

more  solidly  booted,  and  that  her  straight* 
short  skirts,  although  less  stylish  than  her 
own,  had  a  certain  character,  better  fitted  to 
the  freer  outdoor  life  of  the  country.  But 
she  only  said,  however,  "The  village  will 
do,"  and  gayly  took  her  companion's  arm. 

"But  I  'm  afraid  you  '11  find  it  very  unin- 
teresting, for  I  am  going  to  visit  some  poor 
cottages,"  persisted  Miss  Amelyn,  with  a 
certain  timid  ingenuousness  of  manner  which, 
however,  was  as  distinct  as  Miss  Desbor- 
ough's  bolder  frankness.  "I  promised  the 
rector's  daughter  to  take  her  place  to-day." 

"And  I  feel  as  if  I  was  ready  to  pour  oil 
and  wine  to  any  extent,"  said  Miss  Desbor- 
ough,  "so  come  along!  " 

Miss  Amelyn  laughed,  and  yet  glanced 
around  her  timidly,  as  if  she  thought  that 
Miss  Desborough  ought  to  have  a  larger  and 
more  important  audience.  Then  she  con- 
tinued more  confidentially  and  boldly,  "  But 
it  is  n't  at  all  like  '  slumming, '  you  know. 
These  poor  people  here  are  not  very  bad, 
and  are  not  at  all  extraordinary." 

"Never  mind,"  said  Sadie,  hurrying  her 
along.  After  a  pause  she  went  on,  "You 
know  the  Priory  very  well,  I  guess?" 

"I  lived  there  when  I  was  a  little  girl, 


THE  DESBOBOUGH  CONNECTIONS     141 

with  my  aunt,  the  Dowager  Lady  Bever- 
dale,"  said  Miss  Amelyn.  "When  my 
cousin  Fred,  who  was  the  young  heir,  died, 
and  the  present  Lord  Beverdale  succeeded, 
—  he  never  expected  it,  you  know,  for  there 
were  two  lives,  his  two  elder  brothers,  besides 
poor  Fred's,  between,  but  they  both  died,  — 
we  went  to  live  in  the  Dower  House." 

"The  Dower  House?"  repeated  Sadie. 

"Yes,  Lady  Beverdale' s  separate  pro- 
perty." 

"But  I  thought  all  this  property  —  the 
Priory  —  came  into  the  family  through  her." 

"It  did  —  this  was  the  Amelyns'  place; 
but  the  oldest  son  or  nearest  male  heir  al- 
ways succeeds  to  the  property  and  title." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  present 
Lord  Beverdale  turned  that  old  lady  out?" 

Miss  Amelyn  looked  shocked.  "I  mean 
to  say,"  she  said  gravely,  "Lady  Beverdale 
would  have  had  to  go  when  her  own  son  be- 
came of  age,  had  he  lived."  She  paused, 
and  then  said  timidly,  "Isn't  it  that  way  in 
America?" 

"Dear  no!"  Miss  Desborough  had  a 
faint  recollection  that  there  was  something 
in  the  Constitution  or  the  Declaration  of 
Independence  against  primogeniture.  "  No  I 


142      THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS 

the  men  have  n't  it  all  their  own  way  there 
—  not  much! " 

Miss  Amelyn  looked  as  if  she  did  not  care 
to  discuss  this  problem.  After  a  few  mo- 
ments Sadie  continued,  "You  and  Lord 
Algernon  are  pretty  old  friends,  I  guess?  " 

"No,"  replied  Miss  Amelyn.  "He  came 
once  or  twice  to  the  Priory  for  the  holidays, 
when  he  was  quite  a  boy  at  Marlborough  — 
for  the  family  weren't  very  well  off,  and 
his  father  was  in  India.  He  was  a  very  shy 
boy,  and  of  course  no  one  ever  thought  of 
him  succeeding." 

Miss  Desborough  felt  half  inclined  to  be 
pleased  with  this,  and  yet  half  inclined  to 
resent  this  possible  snubbing  of  her  future 
husband.  But  they  were  nearing  the  vil- 
lage, and  Miss  Amelyn  turned  the  conversa- 
tion to  the  object  of  her  visit.  It  was  a  new 
village  —  an  unhandsome  village,  for  all 
that  it  stood  near  one  of  the  gates  of  the 
park.  It  had  been  given  over  to  some  mines 
that  were  still  worked  in  its  vicinity,  and 
to  the  railway,  which  the  uncle  of  the  present 
earl  had  resisted;  but  the  railway  had  tri- 
umphed, and  the  station  for  Scrooby  Priory 
was  there.  There  was  a  grim  church,  of  a 
blackened  or  weather-beaten  stone,  on  the 


THE  DESBOBOUGH  CONNECTIONS     143 

hill,  with  a  few  grim  Amelyns  reposing 
cross-legged  in  the  chancel,  but  the  charac- 
ter of  the  village  was  as  different  from  the 
Priory  as  if  it  were  in  another  county. 
They  stopped  at  the  rectory,  where  Miss 
Amelyn  provided  herself  with  certain  doles 
and  gifts,  which  the  American  girl  would 
have  augmented  with  a  five -pound  note  but 
for  Miss  Amelyn's  horrified  concern.  "As 
many  shillings  would  do,  and  they  would  be 
as  grateful, "  she  said.  " More  they  would  n't 
understand." 

"Then  keep  it,  and  dole  it  out  as  you 
like,"  said  Sadie  quickly. 

"But  I  don't  think  that  —  that  Lord 
Beverdale  would  quite  approve,"  hesitated 
Miss  Amelyn. 

The  pretty  brow  of  her  companion  knit, 
and  her  gray  eyes  flashed  vivaciously. 
"What  has  he  to  do  with  it?"  she  said 
pertly;  "besides,  you  say  these  are  not  his 
poor.  Take  that  five -pound  note  —  or  — 
I  '11  double  it,  get  it  changed  into  sovereigns 
at  the  station,  and  hand  'em  round  to  every 
man,  woman,  and  child." 

Miss  Amelyn  hesitated.  The  American 
girl  looked  capable  of  doing  what  she  said; 
perhaps  it  was  a  national  way  of  almsgiv- 


144      THE  DESBOBOUGH  CONNECTIONS 

ing!  She  took  the  note,  with  the  mental 
reservation  of  making  a  full  confession  to 
the  rector  and  Lord  Beverdale. 

She  was  right  in  saying  that  the  poor  of 
Scrooby  village  were  not  interesting.  There 
was  very  little  squalor  or  degradation ;  their 
poverty  seemed  not  a  descent,  but  a  condi- 
tion to  which  they  had  been  born ;  the  faces 
which  Sadie  saw  were  dulled  and  apathetic 
rather  than  sullen  or  rebellious;  they  stood 
up  when  Miss  Amelyn  entered,  paying  her 
the  deference,  but  taking  little  note  of  the 
pretty  butterfly  who  was  with  her,  or  rather 
submitting  to  her  frank  curiosity  with  that 
dull  consent  of  the  poor,  as  if  they  had  lost 
even  the  sense  of  privacy,  or  a  right  to  re- 
spect. It  seemed  to  the  American  girl  that 
their  poverty  was  more  indicated  by  what 
they  were  satisfied  with  than  what  she 
thought  they  missed.  It  is  to  be  feared  that 
this  did  not  add  to  Sadie's  sympathy;  all 
the  beggars  she  had  seen  in  America  wanted 
all  they  could  get,  and  she  felt  as  if  she  were 
confronted  with  an  inferior  animal. 

"There  's  a  wonderful  old  man  lives  here," 
said  Miss  Amelyn,  as  they  halted  before  a 
stone  and  thatch  cottage  quite  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  village.  uWe  can't  call  him 


THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS     145 

one  of  our  poor,  for  he  still  works,  although 
over  eighty,  and  it 's  his  pride  to  keep  out 
of  the  poorhouse,  and,  as  he  calls  it,  '  off ' 
the  hands  of  his  granddaughters.  But  we 
manage  to  do  something  for  them,  and  we 
hope  he  profits  by  it.  One  of  them  is  at 
the  Priory;  they  're  trying  to  make  a  maid 
of  her,  but  her  queer  accent  —  they  're  from 
the  north  —  is  against  her  with  the  servants. 
I  am  afraid  we  won't  see  old  Debs,  for  he  's 
at  work  again  to-day,  though  the  doctor  has 
warned  him." 

"  Debs !     What  a  funny  name !  " 

"Yes,  but  as  many  of  these  people  cannot 
read  or  write,  the  name  is  carried  by  the 
ear,  and  not  always  correctly.  Some  of  the 
railway  navvies,  who  come  from  the  north 
as  he  does,  call  him  '  Debbers.' ' 

They  were  obliged  to  descend  into  the 
cottage,  which  was  so  low  that  it  seemed  to 
have  sunk  into  the  earth  until  its  drooping 
eaves  of  thatch  mingled  with  the  straw  heap 
beside  it.  Debs  was  not  at  home.  But  his 
granddaughter  was  there,  who,  after  a  pre- 
liminary "bob,"  continued  the  stirring  of 
the  pot  before  the  fire  in  tentative  silence. 

"I  am  sorry  to  find  that  your  grandfather 
has  gone  to  work  again  in  spite  of  the  doc- 
tor's orders,"  said  Miss  Amelyn. 


146      THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTION'S 

The  girl  continued  to  stir  the  pot,  and 
then  said  without  looking  up,  but  as  if  also 
continuing  a  train  of  aggressive  thoughts 
with  her  occupation:  "Eay,  but  'e 's  so  set 
oop  in  'issen  'ee  doan't  take  orders  from  nob- 
but —  leastways  doctor.  Moinds  'em  now 
moor  nor  a  floy.  Says  'ee  knaws  there  nowt 
wrong  wi'  'is  'eart.  Mout  be  roight  — 
how'siver,  sarten  sewer,  'is  'ead  's  a'  in  a 
muddle!  Toims  'ee  goes  off  stamrin'  and 
starin'  at  nowt,  as  if  'ee  a'nt  a  n'aporth  o' 
sense.  How'siver  I  be  doing  my  duty  by 
'em  —  and  'ere  's  'is  porritch  when  a'  cooms 
—  'gin  a'  be  sick  or  maad." 

What  the  American  understood  of  the 
girl's  speech  and  manner  struck  her  as  hav- 
ing very  little  sympathy  with  either  her 
aged  relative  or  her  present  visitor.  And 
there  was  a  certain  dogged  selfish  independ- 
ence about  her  that  Miss  Desborough  half 
liked  and  half  resented.  However,  Miss 
Amelyn  did  not  seem  to  notice  it,  and,  after 
leaving  a  bottle  of  port  for  the  grandfather, 
she  took  her  leave  and  led  Sadie  away.  As 
they  passed  into  the  village  a  carriage,  re- 
turning to  the  Priory,  filled  with  tneir  fel- 
low guests,  dashed  by,  but  was  instantly 
pulled  up  at  a  word  from  Lord  Algernon, 


THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS     147 

who  leaped  from  the  vehicle,  hat  in  hand, 
and  implored  the  fair  truant  and  her  com- 
panion to  join  them. 

"  We  're  just  making  a  tour  around  Wind- 
over  Hill,  and  back  to  luncheon,"  he  said, 
with  a  rising  color.  "We  missed  you  aw- 
fully !  If  we  had  known  you  were  so  keen 
on  '  good  works, '  and  so  early  at  it,  by 
Jove !  we  'd  have  got  up  a  '  slummin'  party,' 
and  all  joined! " 

"And  you  haven't  seen  half,"  said  Lord 
Beverdale  from  the  box.  "Miss  Amelyn  's 
too  partial  to  the  village.  There  's  an  old 
drunken  retired  poacher  somewhere  in  a  hut 
in  Crawley  Woods,  whom  it 's  death  to  ap- 
proach, except  with  a  large  party.  There  's 
malignant  diphtheria  over  at  the  South 
Farm,  eight  down  with  measles  at  the  keep- 
er's, and  an  old  woman  who  has  been  bed- 
ridden for  years." 

But  Miss  Desborough  was  adamant, 
though  sparkling.  She  thanked  him,  but 
said  she  had  just  seen  an  old  woman  "who 
had  been  lying  in  bed  for  twenty  years,  and 
hadn't  spoken  the  truth  once!"  She  pro- 
posed "going  outside  of  Lord  Beverdale 's 
own  preserves  of  grain-fed  poor,"  and  start- 
ing up  her  own  game.  She  would  return  in 


148      THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS 

time  for  luncheon  —  if  she  could;  if  not, 
she  "  should  annex  the  gruel  of  the  first  kind 
incapable  she  met." 

Yet,  actually,  she  was  far  from  displeased 
at  being  accidentally  discovered  by  these 
people  while  following  out  her  capricious 
whim  of  the  morning.  One  or  two  elder 
ladies,  who  had  fought  shy  of  her  frocks 
and  her  frankness  the  evening  before,  were 
quite  touched  now  by  this  butterfly  who  was 
willing  to  forego  the  sunlight  of  society,  and 
soil  her  pretty  wings  on  the  haunts  of  the 
impoverished,  with  only  a  single  companion, 
—  of  her  own  sex !  —  and  smiled  approv- 
ingly. And  in  her  present  state  of  mind, 
remembering  her  companion's  timid  attitude 
towards  Lord  Beverdale's  opinions,  she  was 
not  above  administering  this  slight  snub  to 
him  in  her  presence. 

When  they  had  driven  away,  with  many 
regrets,  Miss  Amelyn  was  deeply  concerned. 
"I  am  afraid,"  she  said,  with  timid  conscien- 
tiousness, "I  have  kept  you  from  going  with 
them.  And  you  must  be  bored  with  what 
you  have  seen,  I  know.  I  don't  believe  you 
really  care  one  bit  for  it  —  and  you  are  only 
doing  it  to  please  me." 

"Trot  out  the  rest  of  your  show,"  said 


THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS     149 

Sadie  promptly,  "and  we  '11  wind  up  by 
lunching  with  the  rector." 

"He  'd  be  too  delighted,"  said  Miss  Ame- 
lyn,  with  disaster  written  all  over  her  girl- 
ish, truthful  face,  "but  —  but  —  you  know 
—  it  really  would  n't  be  quite  right  to  Lord 
Beverdale.  You  're  his  principal  guest  — 
you  know,  and  —  they  'd  think  I  had  taken 
you  off." 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Desborough  impetu- 
ously, "what's  the  matter  with  that  inn  — 
the  Red  Lion?  We  can  get  a  sandwich 
there,  I  guess.  I  'm  not  very  hungry." 

Miss  Amelyn  looked  horrified  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  laughed;  but  immediately 
became  concerned  again.  "No!  listen  to 
me,  really  now!  Let  me  finish  my  round 
alone !  You  '11  have  ample  time  if  you  go 
now  to  reach  the  Priory  for  luncheon.  Do, 
please!  It  would  be  ever  so  much  better 
for  everybody.  I  feel  quite  guilty  as  it  is, 
and  I  suppose  I  am  already  in  Lord  Bever- 
dale's  black  books." 

The  trouble  in  the  young  girl's  face  was 
unmistakable,  and  as  it  suited  Miss  Desbor- 
ough's  purpose  just  as  well  to  show  her  in- 
dependence by  returning,  as  she  had  set  out, 
alone,  she  consented  to  go.  Miss  Amelyn 


150      THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS 

showed  her  a  short  cut  across  the  park,  and 
they  separated  —  to  meet  at  dinner.  In  this 
Jbrief  fellowship,  the  American  girl  had  kept 
a  certain  supremacy  and  half-fascination 
over  the  English  girl,  even  while  she  was 
conscious  of  an  invincible  character  in  Miss 
Amelyn  entirely  different  from  and  superior 
to  her  own.  Certainly  there  was  a  differ- 
ence in  the  two  peoples.  Why  else  this 
inherited  conscientious  reverence  for  Lord 
Beverdale's  position,  shown  by  Miss  Ame- 
lyn, which  she,  an  American  alive  to  its 
practical  benefits,  could  not  understand? 
Would  Miss  Amelyn  and  Lord  Algernon 
have  made  a  better  match?  The  thought 
irritated  her,  even  while  she  knew  that  she 
herself  possessed  the  young  man's  affec- 
tions, the  power  to  marry  him,  and,  as  she 
believed,  kept  her  own  independence  in  the 
matter. 

As  she  entered  the  iron  gates  at  the  lower 
end  of  the  park,  and  glanced  at  the  inter- 
woven cipher  and  crest  of  the  Amelyns  still 
above,  she  was  conscious  that  the  wind  was 
blowing  more  chill,  and  that  a  few  clouds 
had  gathered.  As  she  walked  on  down  the 
long  winding  avenue,  the  sky  became  over- 
cast, and,  in  one  of  those  strange  contrasts 


THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS     151 

of  the  English  climate,  the  glory  of  the 
whole  day  went  out  with  the  sunshine.  The 
woods  suddenly  became  wrinkled  and  gray, 
the  distant  hills  sombre,  the  very  English 
turf  beneath  her  feet  grew  brown;  a  mile 
and  a  half  away,  through  the  opening  of  the 
trees,  the  west  part  of  the  Priory  looked  a 
crumbling,  ivy-eaten  ruin.  A  few  drops  of 
rain  fell.  She  hurried  on.  Suddenly  she 
remembered  that  the  avenue  made  a  long 
circuit  before  approaching  the  house,  and 
that  its  lower  end,  where  she  was  walking, 
was  but  a  fringe  of  the  park.  Consequently 
there  must  be  a  short  cut  across  some  fields 
and  farm  buildings  to  the  back  of  the  park 
and  the  Priory.  She  at  once  diverged  to 
the  right,  presently  found  a  low  fence,  which 
she  clambered  over,  and  again  found  a  foot- 
path which  led  to  a  stile.  Crossing  that, 
she  could  see  the  footpath  now  led  directly 
to  the  Priory,  —  now  a  grim  and  austere  look- 
ing pile  in  the  suddenly  dejected  landscape > 
—  and  that  it  was  probably  used  only  by 
the  servants  and  farmers.  A  gust  of  wind 
brought  some  swift  needles  of  rain  to  her 
cheek;  she  could  see  the  sad  hills  beyond 
the  Priory  already  veiling  their  faces;  she 
gathered  her  skirts  and  ran.  The  next  field 


152      THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS 

was  a  long  one,  but  beside  the  further  stile 
was  a  small  clump  of  trees,  the  only  ones 
between  her  and  the  park.  Hurrying  on  to 
that  shelter,  she  saw  that  the  stile  was  al- 
ready occupied  by  a  tall  but  bent  figure, 
holding  a  long  stick  in  his  hand,  which  gave 
him  the  appearance,  against  the  horizon,  of 
the  figure  of  Time  leaning  on  his  scythe. 
As  she  came  nearer  she  saw  it  was,  indeed, 
an  old  man,  half  resting  on  his  rake.  He 
was  very  rugged  and  weather-beaten,  and 
although  near  the  shelter  of  the  trees,  ap- 
parently unmindful  of  the  rain  that  was  fall- 
ing on  his  bald  head,  and  the  limp  cap  he 
was  holding  uselessly  in  one  hand.  He  was 
staring  at  her,  yet  apparently  unconscious 
of  her  presence.  A  sudden  instinct  came 
upon  her  —  it  was  "Debs  " ! 

She  went  directly  up  to  him,  and  with 
that  frank  common  sense  which  ordinarily 
distinguished  her,  took  his  cap  from  his 
hand  and  put  it  on  his  head,  grasped  his 
arm  firmly,  and  led  him  to  the  shelter  of  the 
tree.  Then  she  wiped  the  raindrops  from 
his  face  with  her  handkerchief,  shook  out 
her  own  dress  and  her  wet  parasol,  and, 
propping  her  companion  against  the  tree, 
said :  — - 


THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS     153 

"There,  Mr.  Debs!  I  've  heard  of  people 
who  did  n't  know  enough  to  come  in  when  it 
rained,  but  I  never  met  one  before." 

The  old  man  started,  lifted  his  hairy, 
sinewy  arm,  bared  to  the  elbow,  and  wiped 
his  bare  throat  with  the  dry  side  of  it. 
Then  a  look  of  intelligence  —  albeit  half 
aggressive  —  came  into  his  face.  "Wheer 
beest  tha  going?  "  he  asked. 

Something  in  his  voice  struck  Sadie  like 
a  vague  echo.  Perhaps  it  was  only  the 
queer  dialect  —  or  some  resemblance  to  his 
granddaughter's  voice.  She  looked  at  him 
a  little  more  closely  as  she  said :  — 

"To  the  Priory." 

"Whaat?" 

She  pointed  with  her  parasol  to  the  gray 
pile  in  the  distance.  It  was  possible  that 
this  demented  peasant  didn't  even  under- 
stand English. 

"The  hall.  Oh,  ay!"  Suddenly  his 
brows  knit  ominously  as  he  faced  her.  "  An' 
wassist  tha  doin'  drest  oop  in  this  foinery? 
Wheer  gettist  thee  that  goawn?  Thissen, 
or  thy  maester?  Nowt  even  a  napron,  fit 
for  thy  wark  as  maaid  at  serviss;  an'  parson 
a  getthv  tha  plaace  at  Hall!  So  thou 'It 
be  high  and  moity  will  tha !  thou  'It  not 


154      THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS 

walk  wi'  maaids,  but  traipse  by  thissen  like 
a  slut  in  the  toon  —  dang  tlia !  " 

Although  it  was  plain  to  Sadie  that  the 
old  man,  in  his  wandering  perception,  had 
mistaken  her  for  his  granddaughter  in  ser- 
vice at  the  Priory,  there  was  still  enough 
rudeness  in  his  speech  for  her  to  have  re- 
sented it.  But,  strange  to  say,  there  was  a 
kind  of  authority  in  it  that  touched  her  with 
an  uneasiness  and  repulsion  that  was  stronger 
than  any  other  feeling.  "I  think  you  have 
mistaken  me  for  some  one  else,"  she  said 
hurriedly,  yet  wondering  why  she  had  admit- 
ted it,  and  even  irritated  at  the  admission. 
"I  am  a  stranger  here,  a  visitor  at  the  Pri- 
ory. I  called  with  Miss  Amelyn  at  your 
cottage,  and  saw  your  other  granddaughter ; 
that 's  how  I  knew  your  name." 

The  old  man's  face  changed.  A  sad, 
senile  smile  of  hopeless  bewilderment  crept 
into  his  hard  mouth;  he  plucked  his  limp 
cap  from  his  head  and  let  it  hang  submis- 
sively in  his  fingers,  as  if  it  were  his  sole 
apology.  Then  he  tried  to  straighten  him- 
self, and  said,  "Naw  offins,  miss,  naw  offins ! 
If  tha  knaws  mea  tha  '11  knaw  I  'm  grand- 
feyther  to  two  galls  as  moight  be  tha  owern 
age;  tha '11  tell  'ee  that  old  Debs  at  haaty 


THE  DESBOBOUGH  CONNECTIONS     155 

years  'as  warked  and  niver  lost  a  day  as 
man  or  boy;  has  niver  coome  oopen  'em 
for  n'aporth.  An'  'e  '11  keep  out  o'  warkus 
till  he  doy.  An'  'ee  's  put  by  enow  to  loy 
wi'  his  own  feythers  in  Lanksheer,  an'  not 
liggen  aloane  in  parson's  choorchyard. " 

It  was  part  of  her  uneasiness  that,  scarcely 
understanding  or,  indeed,  feeling  any  inter- 
est in  these  maundering  details,  she  still 
seemed  to  have  an  odd  comprehension  of 
his  character  and  some  reminiscent  know- 
ledge of  him,  as  if  she  were  going  through 
the  repetition  of  some  unpleasant  dream. 
Even  his  wrinkled  face  was  becoming  famil- 
iar to  her.  Some  weird  attraction  was  hold- 
ing her;  she  wanted  to  get  away  from  it  as 
much  as  she  wanted  to  analyze  it.  She 
glanced  ostentatiously  at  the  sky,  prepared 
to  open  her  parasol,  and  began  to  edge  cau- 
tiously away. 

"Then  tha  beant  from  these  pearts?"  he 
said  suddenly. 

"No,  no,"  she  said  quickly  and  emphati- 
cally, —  "no,  I  'm  an  American." 

The  old  man  started  and  moved  towards 
her,  eagerly,  his  keen  eyes  breaking  through 
the  film  that  at  times  obscured  them. 
"'Merrikan!  tha  baist  'Merrikan?  Then 


156      THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS 

tha  knaws  ma  son  John,  'ee  war  nowt  but 
a  bairn  when  brether  Dick  took  un  to  'Mer- 
riky !  Naw !  Now !  that  wor  fifty  years  sen ! 
—  niver  wroate  to  his  old  feyther  —  niver 
coomed  back.  'Ee  wor  tall-loike,  an'  thea 
said  'e  feavored  mea."  He  stopped,  threw 
up  his  head,  and  with  his  skinny  fingers 
drew  back  his  long,  straggling  locks  from 
his  sunken  cheeks,  and  stared  in  her  face. 
The  quick  transition  of  fascination,  repul- 
sion, shock,  and  indefinable  apprehension 
made  her  laugh  hysterically.  To  her  terror 
he  joined  in  it,  and  eagerly  clasped  her 
wrists.  "Eh,  lass!  tha  knaws  John  —  tha 
coomes  from  un  to  ole  grandfeyther. 
Who-rr-u!  Eay!  but  tha  tho't  to  fool 
mea,  did  tha,  lass?  Whoy,  I  knoawed  tha 
voice,  for  a'  tha  foine  peacock  feathers. 
So  tha  be  John's  gell  coom  from  Ameriky. 
Dear!  a  dear!  Coom  neaur,  lass!  let 's  see 
what  tha  's  loike.  Eh,  but  thou  'It  kiss  tha 
grandfather,  sewerly?" 

A  wild  terror  and  undefined  consternation 
had  completely  overpowered  her!  But  she 
made  a  desperate  effort  to  free  her  wrists, 
and  burst  out  madly :  — 

"Let  me  go!  How  dare  you!  I  don't 
know  you  or  yours !  I'm  nothing  to  you  or 


THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS     157 

your  kin !  My  name  is  Desborough  —  do 
you  understand  —  do  you  hear  me,  Mr. 
Debs  ?  —  Desborough  !  " 

At  the  word  the  old  man's  fingers  stiffened 
like  steel  around  her  wrists,  as  he  turned 
upon  her  a  hard,  invincible  face. 

"  So  thou  'It  call  thissen  Des-borough,  wilt 
tha?  Let  me  tell  tha,  then,  that  '  Debs/ 
'  Debban, ' '  Debbrook, '  and  '  Des-borough  ' 
are  all  a  seame !  Ay !  thy  f eyther  and  thy 
feyther's  feyther!  Thou 'It  be  a  Des-bor- 
ough, will  tha?  Dang  tha!  and  look  doon 
on  tha  kin,  and  dress  thissen  in  silks  o' 
shame!  Tell  'ee  thou  'rt  an  ass,  gell! 
Don't  tha  hear?  An  ass!  for  all  tha  bean 
John's  bairn!  An  ass!  that's  what  tha 
beast!" 

With  flashing  eyes  and  burning  cheeks 
she  made  one  more  supreme  effort,  lifting 
her  arms,  freeing  her  wrists,  and  throwing 
the  old  man  staggering  from  her.  Then  she 
leaped  the  stile,  turned,  and  fled  through 
the  rain.  But  before  she  reached  the  end 
of  the  field  she  stopped!  She  had  freed 
herself  —  she  was  stronger  than  he  •  —  what 
had  she  to  fear?  He  was  crazy!  Yes,  he 
must  be  crazy,  and  he  had  insulted  her,  but 
he  was  an  old  man  —  and  God  knows  what ! 


158      THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS 

Her  heart  was  beating  rapidly,  her  breath 
was  hurried,  but  she  ran  back  to  the  stile. 

He  was  not  there.  The  field  sloped  away 
on  either  side  of  it.  But  she  could  distin- 
guish nothing  in  the  pouring  rain  above  the 
wind-swept  meadow.  He  must  have  gone 
home.  Believed  for  a  moment  she  turned 
and  hurried  on  towards  the  Priory. 

But  at  every  step  she  was  followed,  not 
by  the  old  man's  presence,  but  by  what  he 
had  said  to  her,  which  she  could  not  shake 
off  as  she  had  shaken  off  his  detaining  fin- 
gers. Was  it  the  ravings  of  insanity,  or 
had  she  stumbled  unwittingly  upon  some 
secret  —  was  it  after  all  a  secret  ?  Perhaps 
it  was  something  they  all  knew,  or  would 
know  later.  And  she  had  come  down  here 
for  this.  For  back  of  her  indignation,  back 
even  of  her  disbelief  in  his  insanity,  there 
was  an  awful  sense  of  truth !  The  names  he 
had  flung  out,  of  "Debs,"  "Debban,"  and 
"Debbrook"  now  flashed  upon  her  as  some- 
thing she  had  seen  before,  but  had  not  un- 
derstood. Until  she  satisfied  herself  of  this, 
she  felt  she  could  not  live  or  breathe !  She 
loathed  the  Priory,  with  its  austere  exclu- 
siveness,  as  it  rose  before  her;  she  wished 
she  had  never  entered  it;  but  it  contained 


THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS     159 

that  which  she  must  know,  and  know  at 
once!  She  entered  the  nearest  door  and 
ran  up  the  grand  staircase.  Her  flushed 
face  and  disordered  appearance  were  easily 
accounted  for  by  her  exposure  to  the  sud- 
den storm.  She  went  to  her  bedroom,  sent 
her  maid  to  another  room  to  prepare  a  change 
of  dress,  and  sinking  down  before  her  trav- 
eling-desk, groped  for  a  document.  Ah! 
there  it  was  —  the  expensive  toy  that  she 
had  played  with!  She  hastily  ran  over  its 
leaves  to  the  page  she  already  remembered. 
And  there,  among  the  dashes  and  perpen- 
dicular lines  she  had  jested  over  last  night, 
on  which  she  had  thought  was  a  collateral 
branch  of  the  line,  stood  her  father's  name 
and  that  of  Richard,  his  uncle,  with  the 
bracketed  note  in  red  ink,  "see  Debbrook, 
Daybrook,  Debbers,  and  Debs."  Yes!  this 
gaunt,  half -crazy,  overworked  peasant,  con- 
tent to  rake  the  dead  leaves  before  the  roll- 
ing chariots  of  the  Beverdales,  was  her 
grandfather;  that  poorly  clad  girl  in  the 
cottage,  and  even  the  menial  in  the  scul- 
lery of  this  very  house  that  might  be  hers, 
were  her  cousins  !  She  burst  into  a  laugh, 
and  then  refolded  the  document  and  put  it 
away. 


160      THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS 

At  luncheon  she  was  radiant  and  spar- 
kling. Her  drenched  clothes  were  an  excuse 
for  a  new  and  ravishing  toilette.  She  had 
never  looked  so  beautiful  before,  and  signifi- 
cant glances  were  exchanged  between  some 
of  the  guests,  who  believed  that  the  expected 
proposal  had  already  come.  But  those  who 
were  of  the  carriage  party  knew  otherwise, 
and  of  Lord  Algernon's  disappointment. 
Lord  Beverdale  contented  himself  with  ral- 
lying his  fair  guest  on  the  becomingness  of 
"good  works."  But  he  continued,  "You  're 
offering  a  dreadful  example  to  these  ladies, 
Miss  Desborough,  and  I  know  I  shall  never 
hereafter  be  able  to  content  them  with  any 
frivolous  morning  amusement  at  the  Priory. 
For  myself,  when  I  am  grown  gouty  and 
hideous,  I  know  I  shall  bloom  again  as  a 
district  visitor." 

Yet  under  this  surface  sparkle  and  ner- 
vous exaltation  Sadie  never  lost  conscious- 
ness of  the  gravity  of  the  situation.  If  her 
sense  of  humor  enabled  her  to  see  one  side  of 
its  grim  irony ;  if  she  experienced  a  wicked 
satisfaction  in  accepting  the  admiration  and 
easy  confidence  of  the  high-born  guests, 
knowing  that  her  cousin  had  assisted  in  pre- 
paring the  meal  they  were  eating,  she  had 


THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS     161 

never  lost  sight  of  the  practical  effect  of  the 
discovery  she  had  made.  And  she  had  come 
to  a  final  resolution.  She  should  leave  the 
Priory  at  once,  and  abandon  all  idea  of  a 
matrimonial  alliance  with  its  heir!  Incon- 
sistent as  this  might  seem  to  her  selfish, 
worldly  nature,  it  was  nevertheless  in  keep- 
ing with  a  certain  pride  and  independence 
that  was  in  her  blood.  She  did  not  love 
Lord  Algernon,  neither  did  she  love  her 
grandfather ;  she  was  equally  willing  to  sac- 
rifice either  or  both ;  she  knew  that  neither 
Lord  Algernon  nor  his  father  would  make 
her  connections  an  objection,  however  they 
might  wish  to  keep  the  fact  a  secret,  or  oth- 
erwise dispose  of  them  by  pensions  or  emi- 
gration, but  she  could  not  bear  to  know  it 
herself!  She  never  could  be  happy  as  the 
mistress  of  Scrooby  Priory  with  that  know- 
ledge ;  she  did  not  idealize  it  as  a  principle ! 
Carefully  weighing  it  by  her  own  practical 
common  sense,  she  said  to  herself  that  "it 
wouldn't  pay."  The  highest  independence 
is  often  akin  to  the  lowest  selfishness;  she 
did  not  dream  that  the  same  pride  which 
kept  her  grandfather  from  the  workhouse 
and  support  by  his  daughters,  and  had  even 
kept  him  from  communicating  with  his  own 


162      THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS 

son,  now  kept  her  from  acknowledging  them, 
even  for  the  gift  of  a  title  and  domain. 
There  was  only  one  question  before  her: 
should  she  stay  long  enough  to  receive  the 
proposal  of  Lord  Algernon,  and  then  decline 
it?  Why  should  she  not  snatch  that  single 
feminine  joy  out  of  the  ashes  of  her  burnt-up 
illusion?  She  knew  that  an  opportunity 
would  be  offered  that  afternoon.  The  party 
were  to  take  tea  at  Broxby  Hall,  and  Lord 
Algernon  was  to  drive  her  there  in  his  dog- 
cart. Miss  Desborough  had  gone  up  to  her 
bedroom  to  put  on  a  warmer  cloak,  and  had 
rung  twice  or  thrice  impatiently  for  her 
maid. 

When  the  girl  made  her  appearance, 
apologetic,  voluble,  and  excited,  Miss  Des- 
borough scarcely  listened  to  her  excuses, 
until  a  single  word  suddenly  arrested  her 
attention.  It  was  "old  Debs." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  said 
Sadie,  pausing  in  the  adjustment  of  her  hat 
on  her  brown  hair. 

"Old  Debs,  miss,  — that 's  what  they  call 
him;  an  old  park-keeper,  just  found  dead 
in  a  pool  of  water  in  the  fields ;  the  grand- 
father of  one  of  the  servants  here;  and 
there  's  such  an  excitement  in  the  servants' 


THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS     163 

hall.  The  gentlemen  all  knew  it,  too,  for  I 
heard  Lord  Algernon  say  that  he  was  look- 
ing very  queer  lately,  and  might  have  had 
a  fit ;  and  Lord  Beverdale  has  sent  word  to 
the  coroner.  And  only  think,  the  people 
here  are  such  fools  that  they  daren't  touch 
or  move  the  poor  man,  and  him  lyin'  there 
in  the  rain  all  the  time,  until  the  coroner 


comes! " 

Miss  Desborough  had  been  steadily  re- 
garding herself  in  the  glass  to  see  if  she  had 
turned  pale.  She  had.  She  set  her  teeth 
together  until  the  color  partly  returned. 
But  she  kept  her  face  away  from  the  maid. 
"That  '11  do,"  she  said  quietly.  "You  can 
tell  me  all  later.  I  have  some  important 
news  myself,  and  I  may  not  go  out  after  all. 
I  want  you  to  take  a  note  for  me."  She 
went  to  her  table,  wrote  a  line  in  pencil, 
folded  it,  scribbled  an  address  upon  it, 
handed  it  to  the  girl,  and  gently  pushed  her 
from  the  room. 

The  consul  was  lingering  on  the  terrace 
beside  one  of  the  carriages;  at  a  little  dis- 
tance a  groom  was  holding  the  nervous  thor- 
oughbred of  Lord  Algernon's  dog-cart.  Sud- 
denly he  felt  a  touch  on  his  shoulder,  and 


164      THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS 

Miss  Desborough's  maid  put  a  note  in  his 
hand.     It  contained  only  a  line :  — 

Please  come  and  see  me  in  the  library, 
but  without  making  any  fuss  about  it  —  at 
once.  S.  D. 

The  consul  glanced  around  him;  no  one 
had  apparently  noticed  the  incident.  He 
slipped  back  into  the  house  and  made  his 
way  to  the  library.  It  was  a  long  gallery ; 
at  the  further  end  Miss  Desborough  stood 
cloaked,  veiled,  and  coquettishly  hatted. 
She  was  looking  very  beautiful  and  ani- 
mated. "I  want  you  to  please  do  me  a 
great  favor,"  she  said,  with  an  adorable 
smile,  "as  your  own  countrywoman,  you 
know  —  for  the  sake  of  Fourth  of  July  and 
Pumpkin  Pie  and  the  Old  Flag!  I  don't 
want  to  go  to  this  circus  to-day.  I  am  go- 
ing to  leave  here  to-night !  I  am !  Honest 
Injin !  I  want  you  to  manage  it.  I  want 
you  to  say  that  as  consul  you  've  received 
important  news  for  me:  the  death  of  some 
relative,  if  you  like;  or  better,  something 
affecting  my  property,  you  know,"  with  a 
little  satirical  laugh.  "  I  guess  that  would 
fetch  'em!  So  go  at  once." 


THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS     165 

"But  really,  Miss  Desborough,  do  let  us 
talk  this  over  before  you  decide !  "  implored 
the  bewildered  consul.  "  Think  what  a  dis- 
appointment to  your  host  and  these  ladies. 
Lord  Algernon  expects  to  drive  you  there ; 
he  is  already  waiting!  The  party  was  got 
up  for  you ! "  Miss  Desborough  made  a 
slight  grimace.  "I  mean  you  ought  to  sac- 
rifice something  —  but  I  trust  there  is  really 
nothing  serious  —  to  them !  " 

"If  you  do  not  speak  to  them,  I  will!" 
said  Miss  Desborough  firmly.  "If  you  say 
what,  I  tell  you,  it  will  come  the  more  plau- 
sibly from  you.  Come !  My  mind  is  made 
up.  One  of  us  must  break  the  news !  Shall 
it  be  you  or  I?"  She  drew  her  cloak  over 
her  shoulders  and  made  a  step  forwards. 

The  consul  saw  she  was  determined. 
"Then  wait  here  till  I  return,  but  keep 
yourself  out  of  sight,"  he  said,  and  hurried 
away.  Between  the  library  and  the  terrace 
he  conceived  a  plan.  His  perplexity  lent 
him  a  seriousness  which  befitted  the  gravity 
of  the  news  he  had  to  disclose.  "I  am  sorry 
to  have  to  tell  you,"  he  said,  taking  Lord 
Beverdale  aside,  "that  I  was  the  unlucky 
bearer  of  some  sad  news  to  Miss  Desborough 
this  morning,  through  my  consular  letters  — 


166      THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS 

some  matter  concerning  the  death  of  a  rela- 
tion of  hers,  and  some  wearisome  question 
of  property.  I  thought  that  it  was  of  little 
importance,  and  that  she  would  not  take  it 
seriously,  but  I  find  I  was  mistaken.  It 
may  even  oblige  her  to  catch  the  London 
train  to-night.  I  promised  to  make  her  ex- 
cuses to  you  for  the  present,  and  I  'm  afraid 
I  must  add  my  own  to  them,  as  she  wishes 
me  to  stay  and  advise  her  in  this  matter, 
which  requires  some  prompt  action." 

Miss  Desborough  was  right:  the  magic 
word  "property"  changed  the  slight  annoy- 
ance on  the  earl's  face  to  a  sympathetic 
concern.  "Dear  me!  I  trust  it  is  nothing 
really  serious,"  he  said.  "Of  course  you 
will  advise  her,  and,  by  the  way,  if  my  so- 
licitor, Withers,  who  '11  be  here  to-morrow, 
can  do  anything,  you  know,  call  him  in.  I 
hope  she  '11  be  able  to  see  me  later.  It  could 
not  be  a  near  relation  who  died,  I  fancy; 
she  has  no  brothers  or  sisters,  I  understand." 

"A  cousin,  I  think;  an  old  friend,"  said 
the  consul  hastily.  He  heard  Lord  Bever- 
dale  say  a  few  words  to  his  companions,  saw 
with  a  tinge  of  remorse  a  cloud  settle  upon 
Lord  Algernon's  fresh  face,  as  he  appealed 
in  a  whisper  to  old  Lady  Mesthyn,  who 


THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS     167 

leaned  forward  from  the  carriage,  and  said, 
"If  the  dear  child  thought  /  could  be  of 
any  service,  I  should  only  be  too  glad  to 
stay  with  her." 

"  I  knew  she  would  appreciate  Lady  Mes- 
thyn's  sympathy,"  said  the  ingenious  consul 
quickly,  "but  I  really  think  the  question  is 
more  a  business  one  —  and  "  — 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  the  old  lady,  shaking  her 
head,  "it 's  dreadful,  of  course,  but  we  must 
all  think  of  that!" 

As  the  carriage  drove  away,  the  consul 
hurried  back  a  little  viciously  to  his  fair 
countrywoman.  "There!  "  he  said,  "I  have 
done  it !  If  I  have  managed  to  convey  either 
the  idea  that  you  are  a  penniless  orphan,  or 
that  I  have  official  information  that  you  are 
suspected  of  a  dynamite  conspiracy,  don't 
blame  me!  And  now,"  he  said,  "as  I  have 
excused  myself  on  the  ground  that  I  must  de- 
vote myself  to  this  dreadful  business  of  yours, 
perhaps  you  '11  tell  me  what  it  really  is." 

"Not  a  word  more,"  said  Miss  Desbor- 
ough;  "except,"  she  added,  — checking  her 
smile  with  a  weary  gesture,  —  "  except  that 
I  want  to  leave  this  dreadful  place  at  once ! 
There!  don't  ask  me  any  more!  " 

There  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  girl's  sin- 


168      THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS 

cerity.  Nor  was  it  the  extravagant  caprice 
of  a  petted  idol.  What  had  happened  ?  He 
might  have  believed  in  a  lovers'  quarrel,  but 
he  knew  that  she  and  Lord  Algernon  could 
have  had  no  private  interview  that  evening. 
He  must  perforce  accept  her  silence,  yet  he 
could  not  help  saying :  — 

"You  seemed  to  like  the  place  so  much 
last  night.  I  say,  you  haven't  seen  the 
Priory  ghost,  have  you?" 

"The  Priory  ghost,"  she  said  quickly. 
"What's  that?" 

"The  old  monk  who  passes  through  the 
cloisters  with  the  sacred  oil,  the  bell,  and 
the  smell  of  incense  whenever  any  one  is  to 
die  here.  By  Jove !  it  would  have  been  a 
good  story  to  tell  instead  of  this  cock-and- 
bull  one  about  your  property.  And  there  was 
a  death  here  to-day.  You  'd  have  added  the 
sibyl's  gifts  to  your  other  charms." 

"Tell  me  about  that  old  man,"  she  said, 
looking  past  him  out  of  the  window.  "  I  was 
at  his  cottage  this  morning.  But,  no !  first 
let  us  go  out.  You  can  take  me  for  a  walk, 
if  you  like.  You  see  I  am  all  ready,  and 
I  'm  just  stifling  here." 

They  descended  to  the  terrace  together. 
"Where  would  you  like  to  go?"  he  asked. 


THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS     169 

"To  the  village.  I  may  want  to  tele- 
graph, you  know." 

They  turned  into  the  avenue,  but  Miss 
Desborough  stopped. 

"Is  there  not  a  shorter  cut  across  the 
fields,"  she  asked,  "over  there?" 

"There  is,"  said  the  consul. 

They  both  turned  into  the  footpath  which 
led  to  the  farm  and  stile.  After  a  pause 
she  said,  "Did  you  ever  talk  with  that  poor 
old  man?  " 

"No." 

"Then  you  don't  know  if  he  really  was 
crazy,  as  they  think." 

"No.  But  they  may  have  thought  an  old 
man's  forgetfulness  of  present  things  and 
his  habit  of  communing  with  the  past  was 
insanity.  For  all  that  he  was  a  plucky,  in- 
dependent old  fellow,  with  a  grim  purpose 
that  was  certainly  rational." 

"I  suppose  in  his  independence  he  would 
not  have  taken  favors  from  these  people,  or 
anybody?" 

"I  should  think  not." 

"Don't  you  think  it  was  just  horrid  — 
their  leaving  him  alone  in  the  rain,  when 
he  might  have  been  only  in  a  fit? " 

"The   doctor   says   he  died  suddenly  of 


170      THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS 

heart  disease,"  said  the  consul.  "It  might 
have  happened  at  any  moment  and  without 
warning." 

"Ah,  that  was  the  coroner's  verdict, 
then,"  said  Miss  Desborough  quickly. 

"The  coroner  did  not  think  it  necessary 
to  have  any  inquest  after  Lord  Beverdale's 
statement.  It  would  n't  have  been  very  joy- 
ous for  the  Priory  party.  And  I  dare  say 
he  thought  it  might  not  be  very  cheerful  for 
you." 

"How  very  kind!"  said  the  young  girl, 
with  a  quick  laugh.  "But  do  you  know 
that  it 's  about  the  only  thing  human,  origi- 
nal, and  striking  that  has  happened  in  this 
place  since  I  've  been  here !  And  so  unex- 
pected, considering  how  comfortably  every- 
thing is  ordered  here  beforehand." 

"Yet  you  seemed  to  like  that  kind  of 
thing  very  well,  last  evening,"  said  the  con- 
sul mischievously. 

"That  was  last  night,"  retorted  Miss  Des- 
borough; "and  you  know  the  line,  '  Colors 
seen  by  candlelight  do  not  look  the  same 
by  day.'  But  I  'm  going  to  be  very  consist- 
ent to-day,  for  I  intend  to  go  over  to  that 
poor  man's  cottage  again,  and  see  if  I  can 
be  of  any  service.  Will  you  go  with  me?  " 


THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS     171 

"Certainly,"  said  the  consul,  mystified  by 
his  companion's  extraordinary  conduct,  yet 
apparent  coolness  of  purpose,  and  hoping 
for  some  further  explanation.  Was  she 
only  an  inexperienced  flirt  who  had  found 
herself  on  the  point  of  a  serious  entangle- 
ment she  had  not  contemplated?  Yet  even 
then  he  knew  she  was  clever  enough  to  ex- 
tricate herself  in  some  other  way  than  this 
abrupt  and  brutal  tearing  through  the 
meshes.  Or  was  it  possible  that  she  really 
had  any  intelligence  affecting  her  property? 
He  reflected  that  he  knew  very  little  of  the 
Desboroughs,  but  on  the  other  hand  he  knew 
that  Beverdale  knew  them  much  better,  and 
was  a  prudent  man.  He  had  no  right  to 
demand  her  confidence  as  a  reward  for  his 
secrecy;  he  must  wait  her  pleasure.  Per- 
haps she  would  still  explain ;  women  seldom 
could  resist  the  triumph  of  telling  the  secret 
that  puzzled  others. 

When  they  reached  the  village  she  halted 
before  the  low  roof  of  Debs's  cottage.  "I 
had  better  go  in  first,"  she  said;  "you  can 
come  in  later,  and  in  the  meantime  you 
might  go  to  the  station  for  me  and  find  out 
the  exact  time  that  the  express  train  leaves 
for  the  north." 


172      THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS 

"But,"  said  the  astonished  consul,  "I 
thought  you  were  going  to  London?" 

"No,"  said  Miss  Desborough  quietly,  "I 
am  going  to  join  some  friends  at  Harrogate." 

"But  that  train  goes  much  earlier  than 
the  train  south,  and  —  and  I  'm  afraid  Lord 
Beverdale  will  not  have  returned  so  soon." 

"How  sad!  "  said  Miss  Desborough,  with 
a  faint  smile,  "but  we  must  bear  up  under 
it,  and  —  I  '11  write  him.  I  will  be  here 
until  you  return." 

She  turned  away  and  entered  the  cottage. 
The  granddaughter  she  had  already  seen 
and  her  sister,  the  servant  at  the  Priory, 
were  both  chatting  comfortably,  but  ceased 
as  she  entered,  and  both  rose  with  awkward 
respect.  There  was  little  to  suggest  that 
the  body  of  their  grandfather,  already  in  a 
rough  oak  shell,  was  lying  upon  trestles  be- 
side them. 

"You  have  carried  out  my  orders,  I  see," 
said  Miss  Desborough,  laying  down  her  par- 
asol. 

"Ay,  miss;  but  it  was  main  haard  get- 
tin'  et  dooan  so  soon,  and  et  cboast "  — 

"Never  mind  the  cost.  I  've  given  you 
money  enough,  I  think,  and  if  I  have  n't,  I 
guess  I  can  give  you  more." 


THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS     173 

"Ay,  miss!  Abbut  the  pa'son  'ead  gi' 
un  a  funeral  for  nowt." 

"But  I  understood  you  to  say,"  said  Miss 
Desborough,  with  an  impatient  flash  of  eye, 
"that  your  grandfather  wished  to  be  buried 
with  his  kindred  in  the  north? " 

"Ay,  miss,"  said  the  girl  apologetically, 
"an  naw  'ees  savit  th'  munny.  Abbut  e  'd 
bean  tickled  'ad  'ee  knowed  it!  Dear! 
dear!  'ee  niver  thowt  et  'ud  be  gi'en  by 
stranger  an'  not  'es  ownt  fammaly." 

"For  all  that,  you  need  n't  tell  anybody  it 
was  given  by  me,"  said  Miss  Desborough. 
"And  you'll  be  sure  to  be  ready  to  take 
the  train  this  afternoon  —  without  delay." 
There  was  a  certain  peremptoriness  in  her 
voice  very  unlike  Miss  Amelyn's,  yet  appar- 
ently much  more  effective  with  the  grand- 
daughter. 

"Ay,  miss.  Then,  if  tha  '11  excoose 
mea,  I  '11  go  streight  to  'oory  oop  sexten." 

She  bustled  away.  "Now,"  said  Miss 
Desborough,  turning  to  the  other  girl,  "I 
shall  take  the  same  train,  and  will  probably 
see  you  on  the  platform  at  York  to  give  my 
final  directions.  That 's  all.  Go  and  see 
if  the  gentleman  who  came  with  me  has  re- 
turned from  the  station." 


174      THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS 

The  girl  obeyed.  Left  entirely  alone, 
Miss  Desborougli  glanced  around  the  room, 
and  then  went  quietly  up  to  the  unlidded 
coffin.  The  repose  of  death  had  softened 
the  hard  lines  of  the  old  man's  mouth  and 
brow  into  a  resemblance  she  now  more  than 
ever  understood.  She  had  stood  thus  only 
a  few  years  before,  looking  at  the  same  face 
in  a  gorgeously  inlaid  mahogany  casket, 
smothered  amidst  costly  flowers,  and  sur- 
rounded by  friends  attired  in  all  the  luxuri- 
ous trappings  of  woe;  yet  it  was  the  same 
face  that  was  now  rigidly  upturned  to  the 
bare  thatch  and  rafters  of  that  crumbling 
cottage,  herself  its  only  companion.  She 
lifted  her  delicate  veil  with  both  hands,  and, 
stooping  down,  kissed  the  hard,  cold  fore- 
head, without  a  tremor.  Then  she  dropped 
her  veil  again  over  her  dry  eyes,  readjusted 
it  in  the  little,  cheap,  black-framed  mirror 
that  hung  against  the  wall,  and  opened  the 
door  as  the  granddaughter  returned.  The 
gentleman  was  just  coming  from  the  sta- 
tion. 

"Bemember  to  look  out  for  me  at  York," 
said  Miss  Desborough,  extending  her  gloved 
hand.  "Good-by  till  then."  The  young 
girl  respectfully  touched  the  ends  of  Miss 


THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS     175 

Desborough 's  fingers,  dropped  a  curtsy,  and 
Miss  Desborough  rejoined  the  consul. 

"You  have  barely  time  to  return  to  the 
Priory  and  see  to  your  luggage,"  said  the 
consul,  "if  you  must  go.  But  let  me  hope 
that  you  have  changed  your  mind." 

"I  have  not  changed  my  mind,"  said  Miss 
Desborough  quietly,  "and  my  baggage  is 
already  packed."  After  a  pause,  she  said 
thoughtfully,  "I  've  been  wondering"  — 

"What?  "  said  the  consul  eagerly. 

"I  've  been  wondering  if  people  brought 
up  to  speak  in  a  certain  dialect,  where  cer- 
tain words  have  their  own  significance  and 
color,  and  are  part  of  their  own  lives  and 
experience  —  if,  even  when  they  understand 
another  dialect,  they  really  feel  any  sympa- 
thy with  it,  or  the  person  who  speaks  it?" 

"Apropos  of" —  asked  the  consul. 

"These  people  I  've  just  left!  I  don't 
think  I  quite  felt  with  them,  and  I  guess 
they  didn't  feel  with  me." 

"But,"  said  the  consul  laughingly,  "you 
know  that  we  Americans  speak  with  a  de- 
cided dialect  of  our  own,  and  attach  the 
same  occult  meaning  to  it.  Yet,  upon  my 
word,  I  think  that  Lord  Beverdale  —  OP 
shall  I  say  Lord  Algernon  ?  —  would  not  only 


176      THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS 

understand  that  American  word  4  guess  '  as 
you  mean  it,  but  would  perfectly  sympathize 
with  you." 

Miss  Desborough's  eyes  sparkled  even 
through  her  veil  as  she  glanced  at  her  com- 
panion and  said,  "I  guess  not." 

As  the  "tea  "  party  had  not  yet  returned, 
it  fell  to  the  consul  to  accompany  Miss  Des- 
borough  and  her  maid  to  the  station.  But 
here  he  was  startled  to  find  a  collection  of 
villagers  upon  the  platform,  gathered  round 
two  young  women  in  mourning,  and  an  omu 
nous-looking  box.  He  mingled  for  a  mo- 
ment with  the  crowd,  and  then  returned  to 
Miss  Desborough's  side. 

"Keally,"  he  said,  with  a  concern  that 
was  scarcely  assumed,  "I  ought  not  to  let 
you  go.  The  omens  are  most  disastrous! 
You  came  here  to  a  death;  you  are  going 
away  with  a  funeral!  " 

"Then  it 's  high  time  I  took  myself  off !  " 
said  the  lady  lightly. 

"Unless,  like  the  ghostly  monk,  you  came 
here  on  a  mission,  and  have  fulfilled  it." 

"  Perhaps  I  have.     Good-by !  " 

In  spite  of  the  bright  and  characteristic 
letter  which  Miss  Desborough  left  for  her 


THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS     177 

host,  —  a  letter  which  mingled  her  peculiar 
shrewd  sense  with  her  humorous  extrava- 
gance of  expression,  —  the  consul  spent  a 
somewhat  uneasy  evening  under  the  fire  of 
questions  that  assailed  him  in  reference  to 
the  fair  deserter.  But  he  kept  loyal  faith 
with  her,  adhering  even  to  the  letter  of  her 
instructions,  and  only  once  was  goaded  into 
more  active  mendacity.  The  conversation 
had  turned  upon  "Debs,"  and  the  consul 
had  remarked  on  the  singularity  of  the 
name.  A  guest  from  the  north  observed, 
however,  that  the  name  was  undoubtedly  a 
contraction.  "Possibly  it  might  have  been 
4  Debborough, '  or  even  the  same  name  as 
our  fair  friend." 

"But  didn't  Miss  Desborough  tell  you 
last  night  that  she  had  been  hunting  up  her 
people,  with  a  family  tree,  or  something 
like  that?"  said  Lord  Algernon  eagerly. 
"I  just  caught  a  word  here  and  there,  for 
you  were  both  laughing." 

The  consul  smiled  blandly.  "You  may 
well  say  so,  for  it  was  all  the  most  delight- 
ful piece  of  pure  invention  and  utter  extrava- 
gance. It  would  have  amused  her  still  more 
if  she  had  thought  you  were  listening  and 
took  it  seriously! " 


178      THE  DESBOROUGH  CONNECTIONS 

"Of  course;  I  see!"  said  the  young  feL 
low,  with  a  laugh  and  a  slight  rise  of  color. 
"I  knew  she  was  taking  some  kind  of  a  rise 
out  of  you,  and  that  remark  reminded  me 
of  it." 

Nevertheless,  within  a  year,  Lord  Alger- 
non was  happily  married  to  the  daughter  of 
a  South  African  millionaire,  whose  bridal 
offerings  alone  touched  the  sum  of  half  a 
million.  It  was  also  said  that  the  mother 
was  "impossible"  and  the  father  "unspeak- 
able," the  relations  "inextinguishable;  "  but 
the  wedding  was  an  "occasion,"  and  in  the 
succeeding  year  of  festivity  it  is  presumed 
that  the  names  of  "Debs"  and  "Desbor- 
ough  "  were  alike  forgotten. 

But  they  existed  still  in  a  little  hamlet 
near  the  edge  of  a  bleak  northern  moor, 
where  they  were  singularly  exalted  on  a 
soaring  shaft  of  pure  marble  above  the  sub- 
merged and  moss-grown  tombstones  of  a 
simple  country  churchyard.  So  great  was 
the  contrast  between  the  modern  and  preten- 
tious monument  and  the  graves  of  the  hum- 
bler forefathers  of  the  village,  that  even  the 
Americans  who  chanced  to  visit  it  were 
shocked  at  what  they  believed  was  the  osten- 
tatious and  vulgar  pride  of  one  of  their  own 


THE  DESBOEOUGH  CONNECTIONS     179 

Country  women.     For   on   its   pedestal  was 
inscribed :  — 

Sacred  to  the  Memory 

of 
JOHN  DEBS  DESBOROUGH, 

Formerly  of  this  parish, 
Who  departed  this  life  October  20th,  1892, 

At  Scrooby  Priory, 

At  the  age  of  eighty-two  years. 

This  monument  was  erected  as  a  loving  testimony 

by  his  granddaughter, 
Sadie  Desborough,  of  New  York,  U.  S.  A. 


"  And  evening  brings  us  home." 


SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS 

ONLY  one  shot  had  been  fired.  It  had 
gone  wide  of  its  mark,  —  the  ringleader  of 
the  Vigilantes,  — and  had  left  Ked  Pete, 
who  had  fired  it,  covered  by  their  rifles  and 
at  their  mercy.  For  his  hand  had  been 
cramped  by  hard  riding,  and  his  eye  dis- 
tracted by  their  sudden  onset,  and  so  the 
inevitable  end  had  come.  He  submitted 
sullenly  to  his  captors;  his  companion  fugi- 
tive and  horse -thief  gave  up  the  protracted 
struggle  with  a  feeling  not  unlike  relief. 
Even  the  hot  and  revengeful  victors  were 
content.  They  had  taken  their  men  alive. 
At  any  time  during  the  long  chase  they 
could  have  brought  them  down  by  a  rifle- 
shot, but  it  would  have  been  unsportsman- 
like, and  have  ended  in  a  free  fight,  instead 
of  an  example.  And,  for  the  matter  of 
that,  their  doom  was  already  sealed.  Their 
end,  by  a  rope  and  a  tree,  although  not 
sanctified  by  law,  would  have  at  least  the 
deliberation  of  justice.  It  was  the  tribute 


SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS  181 

paid  by  the  Vigilantes  to  that  order  which 
they  had  themselves  disregarded  in  the  pur- 
suit and  capture.  Yet  this  strange  logic  of 
the  frontier  sufficed  them,  and  gave  a  cer- 
tain dignity  to  the  climax. 

"  Ef  you ' ve  got  anything  to  say  to  your 
folks,  say  it  now,  and  say  it  quick,"  said  the 
ringleader. 

Red  Pete  glanced  around  him.  He  had 
been  run  to  earth  at  his  own  cabin  in  the 
clearing,  whence  a  few  relations  and  friends, 
mostly  women  and  children,  non-combat- 
ants, had  outflowed,  gazing  vacantly  at  the 
twenty  Vigilantes  who  surrounded  them. 
All  were  accustomed  to  scenes  of  violence, 
blood-feud,  chase,  and  hardship ;  it  was  only 
the  suddenness  of  the  onset  and  its  quick 
result  that  had  surprised  them.  They  looked 
on  with  dazed  curiosity  and  some  disappoint- 
ment; there  had  been  no  fight  to  speak  of 
—  no  spectacle!  A  boy,  nephew  of  Red 
Pete,  got  upon  the  rain-barrel  to  view  the 
proceedings  more  comfortably;  a  tall,  hand- 
some, lazy  Kentucky  girl,  a  visiting  neigh- 
bor, leaned  against  the  doorpost,  chewing 
gum.  Only  a  yellow  hound  was  actively 
perplexed.  He  could  not  make  out  if  a 
kunt  were  just  over  or  beginning,  and  ran 


182  SALOMY  JAN&S  KISS 

eagerly  backwards  and  forwards,  leaping 
alternately  upon  the  captives  and  the  cap- 
tors. 

The  ringleader  repeated  his  challenge. 
Bed  Pete  gave  a  reckless  laugh  and  looked 
at  his  wife. 

At  which  Mrs.  Eed  Pete  came  forward. 
It  seemed  that  she  had  much  to  say,  inco- 
herently, furiously,  vindictively,  to  the  ring- 
leader. His  soul  would  roast  in  hell  for 
that  day's  work!  He  called  himself  a  man, 
skunkin'  in  the  open  and  afraid  to  show 
himself  except  with  a  crowd  of  other  "Ki- 
yi's  "  around  a  house  of  women  and  children. 
Heaping  insult  upon  insult,  inveighing 
against  his  low  blood,  his  ancestors,  his  du- 
bious origin,  she  at  last  flung  out  a  wild 
taunt  of  his  invalid  wife,  the  insult  of  a 
woman  to  a  woman,  until  his  white  face 
grew  rigid,  and  only  that  Western -Ameri- 
can fetich  of  the  sanctity  of  sex  kept  his 
twitching  fingers  from  the  lock  of  his  rifle. 
Even  her  husband  noticed  it,  and  with  a 
half -authoritative  "Let  up  on  that,  old 
gal,"  and  a  pat  of  his  freed  left  hand  on  her 
back,  took  his  last  parting.  The  ringleader, 
still  white  under  the  lash  of  the  woman's 
tongue,  turned  abruptly  to  the  second  cap- 


SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS  183 

tive.  "And  if  you  've  got  anybody  to  say 
4  good-by  '  to,  now  's  your  chance." 

The  man  looked  up.  Nobody  sth-red  or 
spoke.  He  was  a  stranger  there,  being  a 
chance  confederate  picked  up  by  Ked  Pete, 
and  known  to  no  one.  Still  young,  but  an 
outlaw  from  his  abandoned  boyhood,  of 
which  father  and  mother  were  only  a  forgot- 
ten dream,  he  loved  horses  and  stole  them, 
fully  accepting  the  frontier  penalty  of  life 
for  the  interference  with  that  animal  on 
which  a  man's  life  so  often  depended.  But 
he  understood  the  good  points  of  a  horse,  as 
was  shown  by  the  one  he  bestrode  —  until  a 
few  days  before  the  property  of  Judge  Boom- 
pointer.  This  was  his  sole  distinction. 

The  unexpected  question  stirred  him  for  a 
moment  out  of  the  attitude  of  reckless  in- 
difference, for  attitude  it  was,  and  a  part  of 
his  profession.  But  it  may  have  touched 
him  that  at  that  moment  he  was  less  than 
his  companion  and  his  virago  wife.  How- 
ever, he  only  shook  his  head.  As  he  did  so 
his  eye  casually  fell  on  the  handsome  girl 
by  the  doorpost,  who  was  looking  at  him. 
The  ringleader,  too,  may  have  been  touched 
by  his  complete  loneliness,  for  he  hesitated. 
At  the  same  moment  he  saw  that  the  girl 
was  looking  at  his  friendless  captive. 


184  SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS 

A  grotesque  idea  struck  him. 

"Salomy  Jane,  ye  might  do  worse  than 
come  yere  and  say  '  good -by '  to  a  dying 
man,  and  him  a  stranger,"  he  said. 

There  seemed  to  be  a  subtle  stroke  of 
poetry  and  irony  in  this  that  equally  struck 
the  apathetic  crowd.  It  was  well  known 
that  Salomy  Jane  Clay  thought  no  small 
potatoes  of  herself,  and  always  held  off  the 
local  swain  with  a  lazy  nymph -like  scorn. 
Nevertheless,  she  slowly  disengaged  herself 
from  the  doorpost,  and,  to  everybody's  as- 
tonishment, lounged  with  languid  grace  and 
outstretched  hand  towards  the  prisoner.  The 
color  came  into  the  gray  reckless  mask  which 
the  doomed  man  wore  as  her  right  hand 
grasped  his  left,  just  loosed  by  his  captors. 
Then  she  paused;  her  shy,  fawn-like  eyes 
grew  bold,  and  fixed  themselves  upon  him. 
She  took  the  chewing-gum  from  her  mouth, 
wiped  her  red  lips  with  the  back  of  her 
hand,  by  a  sudden  lithe  spring  placed  her 
foot  on  his  stirrup,  and,  bounding  to  the 
saddle,  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck  and 
pressed  a  kiss  upon  his  lips. 

They  remained  thus  for  a  hushed  moment 
—  the  man  on  the  threshold  of  death,  the 
young  woman  in  the  fullness  of  youth  and 


SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS  185 

beauty  —  linked  together.  Then  the  crowd 
laughed ;  in  the  audacious  effrontery  of  the 
girl's  act  the  ultimate  fate  of  the  two  men 
was  forgotten.  She  slipped  languidly  to 
the  ground;  she  was  the  focus  of  all  eyes,  — 
she  only!  The  ringleader  saw  it  and  his 
opportunity.  He  shouted:  "Time's  up  — 
Forward!  "  urged  his  horse  beside  his  cap- 
tives, and  the  next  moment  the  whole  caval- 
cade was  sweeping  over  the  clearing  into  the 
darkening  woods. 

Their  destination  was  Sawyer's  Crossing, 
the  headquarters  of  the  committee,  where 
the  council  was  still  sitting,  and  where  both 
culprits  were  to  expiate  the  offense  of  which 
that  council  had  already  found  them  guilty. 
They  rode  in  great  and  breathless  haste,  — 
a  haste  in  which,  strangely  enough,  even 
the  captives  seemed  to  join.  That  haste 
possibly  prevented  them  from  noticing  the 
singular  change  which  had  taken  place  in 
the  second  captive  since  the  episode  of  the 
kiss.  His  high  color  remained,  as  if  it  had 
burned  through  his  mask  of  indifference; 
his  eyes  were  quick,  alert,  and  keen,  his 
mouth  half  open  as  if  the  girl's  kiss  still 
lingered  there.  And  that  haste  had  made 
them  careless,  for  the  horse  of  the  man  who 


186  SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS 

led  him  slipped  in  a  gopher -hole,  rolled 
over,  unseated  his  rider,  and  even  dragged 
the  bound  and  helpless  second  captive  from 
Judge  Boompointer's  favorite  mare.  In  an 
instant  they  were  all  on  their  feet  again, 
but  in  that  supreme  moment  the  second  cap- 
tive felt  the  cords  which  bound  his  arms 
had  slipped  to  his  wrists.  By  keeping  his 
elbows  to  his  sides,  and  obliging  the  others 
to  help  him  mount,  it  escaped  their  notice. 
By  riding  close  to  his  captors,  and  keeping 
in  the  crush  of  the  throng,  he  further  con- 
cealed the  accident,  slowly  working  his  hands 
downwards  out  of  his  bonds. 

Their  way  lay  through  a  sylvan  wilder- 
ness, mid -leg  deep  in  ferns,  whose  tall  fronds 
brushed  their  horses'  sides  in  their  furious 
gallop  and  concealed  the  flapping  of  the  cap- 
tive's loosened  cords.  The  peaceful  vista, 
more  suggestive  of  the  offerings  of  nymph 
and  shepherd  than  of  human  sacrifice,  was 
in  a  strange  contrast  to  this  whirlwind  rush 
of  stern,  armed  men.  The  westering  sun 
pierced  the  subdued  light  and  the  tremor  of 
leaves  with  yellow  lances ;  birds  started  into 
song  on  blue  and  dove-like  wings,  and  on 
either  side  of  the  trail  of  this  vengeful  storm 
could  be  heard  the  murmur  of  hidden  and 


SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS  187 

tranquil  waters.  In  a  few  moments  they 
would  be  on  the  open  ridge,  whence  sloped 
the  common  turnpike  to  "Sawyer's,"  a  mile 
away.  It  was  the  custom  of  returning  cav- 
alcades to  take  this  hill  at  headlong  speed, 
with  shouts  and  cries  that  heralded  their 
coming.  They  withheld  the  latter  that  day, 
as  inconsistent  with  their  dignity;  but, 
emerging  from  the  wood,  swept  silently  like 
an  avalanche  down  the  slope.  They  were 
well  under  way,  looking  only  to  their 
horses,  when  the  second  captive  slipped  his 
right  arm  from  the  bonds  and  succeeded  in 
grasping  the  reins  that  lay  trailing  on  the 
horse's  neck.  A  sudden  vaquero  jerk, 
which  the  well-trained  animal  understood, 
threw  him  on  his  haunches  with  his  forelegs 
firmly  planted  on  the  slope.  The  rest  of 
the  cavalcade  swept  on;  the  man  who  was 
leading  the  captive's  horse  by  the  riata, 
thinking  only  of  another  accident,  dropped 
the  line  to  save  himself  from  being  dragged 
backwards  from  his  horse.  The  captive 
wheeled,  and  the  next  moment  was  galloping 
furiously  up  the  slope. 

It  was  the  work  of  a  moment;  a  trained 
horse  and  an  experienced  hand.  The  caval- 
cade had  covered  nearly  fifty  yards  before 


188  SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS 

they  could  pull  up;  the  freed  captive  had 
covered  half  that  distance  uphill.  The  road 
was  so  narrow  that  only  two  shots  could  be 
fired,  and  these  broke  dust  two  yards  ahead 
of  the  fugitive.  They  had  not  dared  to  fire 
low;  the  horse  was  the  more  valuable  ani- 
mal. The  fugitive  knew  this  in  his  extrem- 
ity also,  and  would  have  gladly  taken  a  shot 
in  his  own  leg  to  spare  that  of  his  horse. 
Five  men  were  detached  to  recapture  or  kill 
him.  The  latter  seemed  inevitable.  But 
he  had  calculated  his  chances ;  before  they 
could  reload  he  had  reached  the  woods 
again ;  winding  in  and  out  between  the  pil- 
lared tree  trunks,  he  offered  no  mark.  They 
knew  his  horse  was  superior  to  their  own ; 
at  the  end  of  two  hours  they  returned,  for 
he  had  disappeared  without  track  or  trail. 
The  end  was  briefly  told  in  the  "Sierra 
Record:  "- 

"Red  Pete,  the  notorious  horse-thief,  who 
had  so  long  eluded  justice,  was  captured 
and  hung  by  the  Sawyer's  Crossing  Vigi- 
lantes last  week;  his  confederate,  unfortu- 
nately, escaped  on  a  valuable  horse  belong- 
ing to  Judge  Boompointer.  The  judge  had 
refused  one  thousand  dollars  for  the  horse 
only  a  week  before.  As  the  thief,  who  is 


SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS  189 

still  at  large,  would  find  it  difficult  to  dis- 
pose of  so  valuable  an  animal  without  detec- 
tion, the  chances  are  against  either  of  them 
turning  up  again." 

Salomy  Jane  watched  the  cavalcade  until 
it  had  disappeared.  Then  she  became  aware 
that  her  brief  popularity  had  passed.  Mrs. 
Red  Pete,  in  stormy  hysterics,  had  included 
her  in  a  sweeping  denunciation  of  the  whole 
universe,  possibly  for  simulating  an  emotion 
in  which  she  herself  was  deficient.  The 
other  women  hated  her  for  her  momentary 
exaltation  above  them;  only  the  children 
still  admired  her  as  one  who  had  undoubt- 
edly "canoodled"  with  a  man  "a-going  to 
be  hung"  —  a  daring  flight  beyond  their 
wildest  ambition.  Salomy  Jane  accepted 
the  change  with  charming  unconcern.  She 
put  on  her  yellow  nankeen  sunbonnet,  —  a 
hideous  affair  that  would  have  ruined  any 
other  woman,  but  which  only  enhanced  the 
piquancy  of  her  fresh  brunette  skin,  —  tied 
the  strings,  letting  the  blue-black  braids  es- 
cape below  its  frilled  curtain  behind,  jumped 
on  her  mustang  with  a  casual  display  of  agile 
ankles  in  shapely  white  stockings,  whistled 
to  the  hound,  and  waving  her  hand  with  a 


190  8ALOMY  JANE'S  KISS 

"So  long,  sonny! "  to  the  lately  bereft  but 
admiring  nephew,  flapped  and  fluttered  away 
in  her  short  brown  holland  gown. 

Her  father's  house  was  four  miles  distant. 
Contrasted  with  the  cabin  she  had  just  quit- 
ted, it  was  a  superior  dwelling,  with  a  long 
"lean-to"  at  the  rear,  which  brought  the 
eaves  almost  to  the  ground  and  made  it  look 
like  a  low  triangle.  It  had  a  long  barn  and 
cattle  sheds,  for  Madison  Clay  was  a  "great " 
stock-raiser  and  the  owner  of  a  "quarter 
section."  It  had  a  sitting-room  and  a  par- 
lor organ,  whose  transportation  thither  had 
been  a  marvel  of  "packing."  These  things 
were  supposed  to  give  Salomy  Jane  an  un- 
due importance,  but  the  girl's  reserve  and 
inaccessibility  to  local  advances  were  rather 
the  result  of  a  cool,  lazy  temperament  and 
the  preoccupation  of  a  large,  protecting  ad- 
miration for  her  father,  for  some  years  a 
"widower.  For  Mr.  Madison  Clay's  life  had 
been  threatened  in  one  or  two  feuds,  —  it  was 
;said,  not  without  cause,  —  and  it  is  possible 
that  the  pathetic  spectacle  of  her  father  do- 
ing his  visiting  with  a  shotgun  may  have 
touched  her  closely  and  somewhat  prejudiced 
her  against  the  neighboring  masculinity. 
The  thought  that  cattle,  horses,  and  "quar- 


SAXOMT  JANE'S  KISS  191 

ter  section  "  would  one  day  be  hers  did  not 
disturb  her  calm.  As  for  Mr.  Clay,  he  ac- 
cepted her  as  housewifely,  though  somewhat 
"interfering,"  and,  being  one  of  "his  own 
womankind,"  therefore  not  without  some 
degree  of  merit. 

"Wot 's  this  yer  I  'm  hearin'  of  your  do- 
in  's  over  at  Red  Pete's?  Honeyfoglin' 
with  a  horse-thief,  eh?"  said  Mr.  Clay  two 
days  later  at  breakfast. 

"I  reckon  you  heard  about  the  straight 
thing,  then,"  said  Salomy  Jane  uncon- 
cernedly, without  looking  round. 
•  "What  do  you  kalkilate  Rube  will  say  to 
it?  What  are  you  goin'  to  tell  him  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Clay  sarcastically. 

"Rube,"  or  Reuben  Waters,  was  a  swain 
supposed  to  be  favored  particularly  by  Mr. 
Clay.  Salomy  Jane  looked  up. 

"I  '11  tell  him  that  when  he  's  on  his  way 
to  be  hung,  I  '11  kiss  him,  — not  till  then," 
said  the  young  lady  brightly. 

Tnis  delightful  witticism  suited  the  pater- 
nal humor,  and  Mr.  Clay  smiled ;  but,  nev- 
ertheless, he  frowned  a  moment  afterwards. 

"But  this  yer  hoss-thief  got  away  arter 
all,  and  that 's  a  hoss  of  a  different  color," 
he  said  grimly. 


192  SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS 

Salomy  Jane  put  down  her  knife  and 
fork.  This  was  certainly  a  new  and  differ- 
ent phase  of  the  situation.  She  had  never 
thought  of  it  before,  and,  strangely  enough, 
for  the  first  time  she  became  interested  in 
the  man.  "Got  away?"  she  repeated. 
"Did  they  let  him  off?" 

"Not  much,"  said  her  father  briefly. 
"Slipped  his  cords,  and  going  down  the 
grade  pulled  up  short,  just  like  a  vaquero 
agin  a  lassoed  bull,  almost  draggin'  the 
man  leadin'  him  off  his  hoss,  and  then 
skyuted  up  the  grade.  For  that  matter,  on 
that  hoss  o'  Judge  Boompointer's  he  mout 
have  dragged  the  whole  posse  of  'em  down 
on  their  knees  ef  he  liked!  Sarved  'em 
right,  too.  Instead  of  stringin'  him  up 
afore  the  door,  or  shootin'  him  on  sight, 
they  must  allow  to  take  him  down  afore  the 
hull  committee  '  for  an  example.'  '  Exam- 
ple '  be  bio  wed!  Ther' 's  example  enough 
when  some  stranger  comes  unbeknownst  slap 
onter  a  man  hanged  to  a  tree  and  plugged 
full  of  holes.  That 's  an  example,  and  he 
knows  what  it  means.  Wot  more  do  ye 
want?  But  then  those  Vigilantes  is  allus 
clingin'  and  hangin'  onter  some  mere  scrap 
o'  the  law  they  're  pretendin'  to  despise.  It 


SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS  193 

makes  me  sick!  Why,  when  Jake  Myers 
shot  your  ole  Aunt  Viney's  second  husband, 
and  I  laid  in  wait  for  Jake  afterwards  in 
the  Butternut  Hollow,  did  /  tie  him  to  his 
hoss  and  fetch  him  down  to  your  Aunt 
Viney's  cabin  '  for  an  example '  before  I 
plugged  him  ?  No !  "  in  deep  disgust.  "No ! 
Why,  I  just  meandered  through  the  wood, 
careless-like,  till  he  comes  out,  and  I  just 
rode  up  to  him,  and  I  said  "  — 

But  Salomy  Jane  had  heard  her  father's 
story  before.  Even  one's  dearest  relatives 
are  apt  to  become  tiresome  in  narration. 
"I  know,  dad,"  she  interrupted;  "but  this 
yer  man,  —  this  hoss-thief ,  —  did  he  get 
clean  away  without  gettin'  hurt  at  all?" 

"He  did,  and  unless  he  's  fool  enough  to 
sell  the  hoss  he  kin  keep  away,  too.  So  ye 
see,  ye  can't  ladle  out  purp  stuff  about  a 
'  dyin'  stranger  '  to  Kube.  He  won't  swal- 
ler  it." 

"All  the  same,  dad,"  returned  the  girl 
cheerfully,  "I  reckon  to  say  it,  and  say 
more ;  I  '11  tell  him  that  ef  he  manages  to 
get  away  too,  I  '11  marry  him  —  there !  But 
ye  don't  ketch  Eube  takin'  any  such  risks 
in  gettin'  ketched,  or  in  gettin'  away  arter !  " 

Madison  Clay  smiled  grimly,  pushed  back 


194  SALOMY  JANETS  KISS 

his  chair,  rose,  dropped  a  perfunctory  kiss 
on  his  daughter's  hair,  and,  taking  his  shot- 
gun from  the  corner,  departed  on  a  peace- 
ful Samaritan  mission  to  a  cow  who  had 
dropped  a  calf  in  the  far  pasture.  Inclined 
as  he  was  to  Reuben's  wooing  from  his  eli- 
gibility as  to  property,  he  was  conscious  that 
he  was  sadly  deficient  in  certain  qualities 
inherent  in  the  Clay  family.  It  certainly 
would  be  a  kind  of  mesalliance. 

Left  to  herself,  Salomy  Jane  stared  a 
long  while  at  the  coffee-pot,  and  then  called 
the  two  squaws  who  assisted  her  in  her 
household  duties,  to  clear  away  the  things 
while  she  went  up  to  her  own  room  to  make 
her  bed.  Here  she  was  confronted  with  a 
possible  prospect  of  that  proverbial  bed  she 
might  be  making  in  her  willfulness,  and  on 
which  she  must  lie,  in  the  photograph  of  a 
somewhat  serious  young  man  of  refined  fea- 
tures —  Reuben  Waters  —  stuck  in  her  win- 
dow-frame. Salomy  Jane  smiled  over  her 
last  witticism  regarding  him  and  enjoyed  it, 
like  your  true  humorist,  and  then,  catching 
sight  of  her  own  handsome  face  in  the  little 
mirror,  smiled  again.  But  was  n't  it  funny 
about  that  horse-thief  getting  off  after  all? 
Good  Lordyl  Fancy  Reuben  hearing  he 


SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS  195 

was  alive  and  going  round  with  that  kiss  of 
hers  set  on  his  lips !  She  laughed  again,  a 
little  more  abstractedly.  And  he  had  re- 
turned it  like  a  man,  holding  her  tight  and 
almost  breathless,  and  he  going  to  be  hung 
the  next  minute!  Salomy  Jane  had  been 
kissed  at  other  times,  by  force,  chance,  or 
.stratagem.  In  a  certain  ingenuous  forfeit 
game  of  the  locality  known  as  "I  'm  a-pin- 
in',"  many  had  "pined"  for  a  "sweet  kiss" 
from  Salomy  Jane,  which  she  had  yielded 
in  a  sense  of  honor  and  fair  play.  She  had 
never  been  kissed  like  this  before  —  she 
would  never  again;  and  yet  the  man  was 
alive!  And  behold,  she  could  see  in  the 
mirror  that  she  was  blushing ! 

She  should  hardly  know  him  again.  A 
young  man  with  very  bright  eyes,  a  flushed 
and  sunburnt  cheek,  a  kind  of  fixed  look  in 
the  face,  and  no  beard;  no,  none  that  she 
could  feel.  Yet  he  was  not  at  all  like  Keu- 
ben,  not  a  bit.  She  took  Eeuben's  picture 
from  the  window,  and  laid  it  on  her  work- 
box.  And  to  think  she  did  not  even  know 
this  young  man's  name !  That  was  queer. 
To  be  kissed  by  a  man  whom  she  might 
never  know !  Of  course  he  knew  hers.  She 
wondered  if  he  remembered  it  and  her.  But 


196  SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS 

of  course  he  was  so  glad  to  get  off  with  his 
life  that  he  never  thought  of  anything  else. 
Yet  she  did  not  give  more  than  four  or  five 
minutes  to  these  speculations,  and,  like  a 
sensible  girl,  thought  of  something  else. 
Once  again,  however,  in  opening  the  closet, 
she  found  the  brown  holland  gown  she  had 
worn  on  the  day  before;  thought  it  very  un- 
becoming, and  regretted  that  she  had  not 
worn  her  best  gown  on  her  visit  to  Red 
Pete's  cottage.  On  such  an  occasion  she 
really  might  have  been  more  impressive. 

When  her  father  came  home  that  night 
she  asked  him  the  news.  No,  they  had  not 
captured  the  second  horse-thief,  who  was 
still  at  large.  Judge  Boompointer  talked  of 
invoking  the  aid  of  the  despised  law.  It 
remained,  then,  to  see  whether  the  horse- 
thief  was  fool  enough  to  try  to  get  rid  of  the 
animal.  Red  Pete's  body  had  been  delivered 
to  his  widow.  Perhaps  it  would  only  be 
neighborly  for  Salomy  Jane  to  ride  over  to 
the  funeral.  But  Salomy  Jane  did  not  take 
to  the  suggestion  kindly,  nor  yet  did  she  ex- 
plain to  her  father  that,  as  the  other  man 
was  still  living,  she  did  not  care  to  undergo 
a  second  disciplining  at  the  widow's  hands. 
Nevertheless,  she  contrasted  her  situation 


SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS  197 

with  that  of  the  widow  with  a  new  and  sin- 
gular satisfaction.  It  might  have  been  Red 
Pete  who  had  escaped.  But  he  had  not  the 
grit  of  the  nameless  one.  She  had  already 
settled  his  heroic  quality. 

"Ye  ain't  harkenin'  to  me,  Salomy." 

Salomy  Jane  started. 

"Here  I'm  askin'  ye  if  ye 've  see  that 
hound  Phil  Larrabee  sneaking  by  yer  to- 
day?" 

Salomy  Jane  had  not.  But  she  became 
interested  and  self -reproachful,  for  she  knew 
that  Phil  Larrabee  was  one  of  her  father's 
enemies.  "He  wouldn't  dare  to  go  by  here 
unless  he  knew  you  were  out,"  she  said 
quickly. 

"That 's  what  gets  me,"  he  said,  scratch- 
ing his  grizzled  head.  "I  've  been  kind  o' 
thinkin'  o'  him  all  day,  and  one  of  them 
Chinamen  said  he  saw  him  at  Sawyer's 
Crossing.  He  was  a  kind  of  friend  o'  Pete's 
wife.  That 's  why  I  thought  yer  might  find 
out  ef  he  'd  been  there."  Salomy  Jane  grew 
more  self -reproachful  at  her  father's  self- 
interest  in  her  "neighborliness."  "But  that 
ain't  all,"  continued  Mr.  Clay.  "Thar  was 
tracks  over  the  far  pasture  that  warn't  mine. 
I  followed  them,  and  they  went  round  and 


198  SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS 

round  the  house  two  or  three  times,  ez  ef 
they  mout  hev  bin  prowlin',  and  then  I  lost 
'em  in  the  woods  again.  It 's  just  like  that 
sneakin'  hound  Larrabee  to  hev  bin  lyin' 
in  wait  for  me  and  afraid  to  meet  a  man 
fair  and  square  in  the  open." 

"You  just  lie  low,  dad,  for  a  day  or  two 
more,  and  let  me  do  a  little  prowlin',"  said 
the  girl,  with  sympathetic  indignation  in  her 
dark  eyes.  "Ef  it 's  that  skunk,  I  '11  spot 
him  soon  enough  and  let  you  know  whar 
he  's  hiding." 

"You  '11  just  stay  where  ye  are,  Salomy," 
said  her  father  decisively.  "This  ain't  no 
woman's  work  —  though  I  ain't  say  in'  you 
haven't  got  more  head  for  it  than  some 
men  I  know." 

Nevertheless,  that  night,  after  her  father 
had  gone  to  bed,  Salomy  Jane  sat  by  the 
open  window  of  the  sitting-room  in  an  ap- 
parent attitude  of  languid  contemplation, 
but  alert  and  intent  of  eye  and  ear.  It  was 
a  fine  moonlit  night.  Two  pines  near  the 
door,  solitary  pickets  of  the  serried  ranks  of 
distant  forest,  cast  long  shadows  like  paths 
to  the  cottage,  and  sighed  their  spiced  breath 
in  the  windows.  For  there  was  no  frivol- 
ity of  vine  or  flower  round  Salomy  Jane's 


SALOMT  JAN&S  KISS  199 

bower.  The  clearing  was  too  recent,  the 
life  too  practical  for  vanities  like  these. 
But  the  moon  added  a  vague  elusiveness  to 
everything,  softened  the  rigid  outlines  of  the 
sheds,  gave  shadows  to  the  lidless  windows, 
and  touched  with  merciful  indirectness  the 
hideous  debris  of  refuse  gravel  and  the 
gaunt  scars  of  burnt  vegetation  before  the 
door.  Even  Salomy  Jane  was  affected  by 
it,  and  exhaled  something  between  a  sigh 
and  a  yawn  with  the  breath  of  the  pines. 
Then  she  suddenly  sat  upright. 

Her  quick  ear  had  caught  a  faint  "click, 
click,"  in  the  direction  of  the  wood;  her 
quicker  instinct  and  rustic  training  enabled 
her  to  determine  that  it  was  the  ring  of  a 
horse's  shoe  on  flinty  ground;  her  knowledge 
of  the  locality  told  her  it  came  from  the 
spot  where  the  trail  passed  over  an  outcrop 
of  flint  scarcely  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from 
where  she  sat,  and  within  the  clearing.  It 
was  no  errant  "stock,"  for  the  foot  was 
shod  with  iron ;  it  was  a  mounted  trespasser 
by  night,  and  boded  no  good  to  a  man  like 
Clay. 

She  rose,  threw  her  shawl  over  her  head, 
more  for  disguise  than  shelter,  and  passed 
out  of  the  door.  A  sudden  impulse  made 


200  SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS 

her  seize  lier  father's  shotgun  from  the  cor- 
ner where  it  stood,  —  not  that  she  feared  any 
danger  to  herself,  but  that  it  was  an  excuse. 
She  made  directly  for  the  wood,  keeping  in 
the  shadow  of  the  pines  as  long  as  she  could. 
At  the  fringe  she  halted ;  whoever  was  there 
must  pass  her  before  reaching  the  house. 

Then  there  seemed  to  be  a  suspense  of  all 
nature.  Everything  was  deadly  still  —  even 
the  moonbeams  appeared  no  longer  tremu- 
lous; soon  there  was  a  rustle  as  of  some 
stealthy  animal  among  the  ferns,  and  then 
a  dismounted  man  stepped  into  the  moon- 
light. It  was  the  horse  -  thief  —  the  man 
she  had  kissed! 

For  a  wild  moment  a  strange  fancy  seized 
her  usually  sane  intellect  and  stirred  her 
temperate  blood.  The  news  they  had  told 
her  was  not  true;  he  had  been  hung,  and 
this  was  his  ghost!  He  looked  as  white  and 
spirit-like  in  the  moonlight,  dressed  in  the 
same  clothes,  as  when  she  saw  him  last.  He 
had  evidently  seen  her  approaching,  and 
moved  quickly  to  meet  her.  But  in  his 
haste  he  stumbled  slightly;  she  reflected 
suddenly  that  ghosts  did  not  stumble,  and  a 
feeling  of  relief  came  over  her.  And  it  was 
no  assassin  of  her  father  that  had  been  prowl- 


SALOMY  JANWS  KISS  201 

ing  around  —  only  this  unhappy  fugitive. 
A  momentary  color  came  into  her  cheek; 
her  coolness  and  hardihood  returned ;  it  was 
with  a  tinge  of  sauciness  in  her  voice  that 
she  said :  — 

"I  reckoned  you  were  a  ghost." 

"I  mout  have  been,"  he  said,  looking  at 
her  fixedly;  "but  I  reckon  I'd  have  come 
back  here  all  the  same." 

"It 's  a  little  riskier  comin'  back  alive," 
she  said,  with  a  levity  that  died  on  her  lips, 
for  a  singular  nervousness,  half  fear  and 
half  expectation,  was  beginning  to  take  the 
place  of  her  relief  of  a  moment  ago.  "Then 
it  was  you  who  was  prowlin'  round  and 
makin'  tracks  in  the  far  pasture?  " 

"Yes;  I  came  straight  here  when  I  got 
away." 

She  felt  his  eyes  were  burning  her,  but 
did  not  dare  to  raise  her  own.  "Why,"  she 
began,  hesitated,  and  ended  vaguely.  "How 
did  you  get  here?" 

"You  helped  me!" 

"I?" 

"Yes.  That  kiss  you  gave  me  put  life 
into  me  —  gave  me  strength  to  get  away.  I 
swore  to  myself  I  'd  come  back  and  thank 
you,  alive  or  dead." 


202  SALOMT  JANE'S  KISS 

Every  word  he  said  she  could  have  antici- 
pated, so  plain  the  situation  seemed  to  her 
now.  And  every  word  he  said  she  knew 
was  the  truth.  Yet  her  cool  common  sense 
struggled  against  it. 

"What's  the  use  of  your  escaping,  ef 
you  're  comin'  back  here  to  be  ketched 
again  ?  "  she  said  pertly. 

He  drew  a  little  nearer  to  her,  but  seemed 
to  her  the  more  awkward  as  she  resumed  her 
self-possession.  His  voice,  too,  was  broken, 
as  if  by  exhaustion,  as  he  said,  catching  his 
breath  at  intervals :  — 

"  I  '11  tell  you.  You  did  more  for  me  than 
you  think.  You  made  another  man  o'  me. 
I  never  had  a  man,  woman,  or  child  do  to 
me  what  you  did.  I  never  had  a  friend  — 
only  a  pal  like  Red  Pete,  who  picked  me  up 
'  on  shares. '  I  want  to  quit  this  yer  — 
what  I  'm  doin'.  I  want  to  begin  by  doin' 
the  square  thing  to  you" —  He  stopped, 
breathed  hard,  and  then  said  brokenly,  "My 
hoss  is  over  thar,  staked  out.  I  want  to 
give  him  to  you.  Judge  Boompointer  will 
give  you  a  thousand  dollars  for  him.  I 
ain't  lyin';  it's  God's  truth!  I  saw  it  on 
the  handbill  agin  a  tree.  Take  him,  and 
I  '11  get  away  afoot.  Take  him.  It 's  the 


SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS  203 

only  thing  I  can  do  for  you,  and  I  know  it 
don't  half  pay  for  what  you  did.  Take  it; 
your  father  can  get  a  reward  for  you,  if  you 
can't." 

Such  were  the  ethics  of  this  strange  local- 
ity that  neither  the  man  who  made  the  offer 
nor  the  girl  to  whom  it  was  made  was 
struck  by  anything  that  seemed  illogical  or 
indelicate,  or  at  all  inconsistent  with  justice 
or  the  horse-thief's  real  conversion.  Salomy 
Jane  nevertheless  dissented,  from  another 
and  weaker  reason. 

"I  don't  want  your  hoss,  though  I  reckon 
dad  might;  but  you 're  just  starvin'.  I'll 
&*%  suthin'."  She  turned  towards  the  house. 

uSay  you  '11  take  the  hoss  first,"  he  said, 
grasping  her  hand.  At  the  touch  she  felt 
herself  coloring  and  struggled,  expecting 
perhaps  another  kiss.  But  he  dropped  her 
hand.  She  turned  again  with  a  saucy  ges- 
ture, said,  "Hoi'  on;  I  '11  come  right  back," 
and  slipped  away,  the  mere  shadow  of  a  coy 
and  flying  nymph  in  the  moonlight,  until 
she  reached  the  house. 

Here  she  not  only  procured  food  and 
whiskey,  but  added  a  long  dust-coat  and  hat 
of  her  father's  to  her  burden.  They  would 
serve  as  a  disguise  for  him  and  hide  that 


204  SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS 

heroic  figure,  which  she  thought  everybody 
must  now  know  as  she  did.  Then  she  re- 
joined him  breathlessly.  But  he  put  the 
food  and  whiskey  aside. 

"Listen,"  he  said;  "I  've  turned  the  hoss 
into  your  corral.  You  '11  find  him  there  in 
the  morning,  and  no  one  will  know  but  that 
he  got  lost  and  joined  the  other  bosses." 

Then  she  burst  out.  "But  you  —  you  — 
what  will  become  of  you  ?  You  '11  be 
ketched!" 

"I  '11  manage  to  get  away,"  he  said  in  a 
low  voice,  "ef  —  ef  "  — 

"Ef  what?"  she  said  tremblingly. 

"Ef  you  '11  put  the  heart  in  me  again,  — 
as  you  did !  "  he  gasped. 

She  tried  to  laugh  —  to  move  away.  She 
could  do  neither.  Suddenly  he  caught  her 
in  his  arms,  with  a  long  kiss,  which  she  re- 
turned again  and  again.  Then  they  stood 
embraced  as  they  had  embraced  two  days 
before,  but  no  longer  the  same.  For  the 
cool,  lazy  Salomy  Jane  had  been  transformed 
into  another  woman  —  a  passionate,  clinging 
savage.  Perhaps  something  of  her  father's 
blood  had  surged  within  her  at  that  supreme 
moment.  The  man  stood  erect  and  deter- 
mined. 


SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS  205 

"Wot 's  your  name? "  she  whispered 
quickly.  It  was  a  woman's  quickest  way  of 
defining  her  feelings. 

"Dart." 

"Yer  first  name?" 

"Jack." 

"Let  me  go  now,  Jack.  Lie  low  in  the 
woods  till  to-morrow  sunup.  I  '11  come 
again." 

He  released  her.  Yet  she  lingered  a  mo- 
ment. "Put  on  those  things,"  she  said, 
with  a  sudden  happy  flash  of  eyes  and  teeth, 
"and  lie  close  till  I  come."  And  then  she 
sped  away  home. 

But  midway  up  the  distance  she  felt  her 
feet  going  slower,  and  something  at  her 
heartstrings  seemed  to  be  pulling  her  back. 
She  stopped,  turned,  and  glanced  to  where 
he  had  been  standing.  Had  she  seen  him 
then,  she  might  have  returned.  But  he  had 
disappeared.  She  gave  her  first  sigh,  and 
then  ran  quickly  again.  It  must  be  nearly 
ten  o'clock !  It  was  not  very  long  to  morn- 
ing! 

She  was  within  a  few  steps  of  her  own 
door,  when  the  sleeping  woods  and  silent  air 
appeared  to  suddenly  awake  with  a  sharp 
"crack!" 


206  SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS 

She  stopped,  paralyzed.  Another  "  crack ! n 
followed,  that  echoed  over  to  the  far  corral. 
She  recalled  herself  instantly  and  dashed  off 
wildly  to  the  woods  again. 

As  she  ran  she  thought  of  one  thing  only. 
He  had  been  "dogged"  by  one  of  his  old 
pursuers  and  attacked.  But  there  were  two 
shots,  and  he  was  unarmed.  Suddenly  she 
remembered  that  she  had  left  her  father's 
gun  standing  against  the  tree  where  they 
were  talking.  Thank  God !  she  may  again 
have  saved  him.  She  ran  to  the  tree ;  the 
gun  was  gone.  She  ran  hither  and  thither, 
dreading  at  every  step  to  fall  upon  his  life- 
less body.  A  new  thought  struck  her;  she 
ran  to  the  corral.  The  horse  was  not  there ! 
He  must  have  been  able  to  regain  it,  and 
escaped,  after  the  shots  had  been  fired. 
She  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief,  but  it  was 
caught  up  in  an  apprehension  of  alarm. 
Her  father,  awakened  from  his  sleep  by  the 
shots,  was  hurriedly  approaching  her. 

"What 's  up  now,  Salomy  Jane?  "  he  de- 
manded excitedly. 

"Nothin',"  said  the  girl  with  an  effort. 
"NotmV,  at  least,  that  /  can  find."  She 
was  usually  truthful  because  fearless,  and  a 
lie  stuck  in  her  throat;  but  she  was  no 


SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS  207 

longer  fearless,  thinking  of  him.  "I  was  n't 
abed ;  so  I  ran  out  as  soon  as  I  heard  the 
shots  fired,"  she  answered  in  return  to  his 
curious  gaze. 

"And  you  've  hid  my  gun  somewhere 
where  it  can't  be  found,"  he  said  reproach- 
fully. "Ef  it  was  that  sneak  Larrabee, 
and  he  fired  them  shots  to  lure  me  out,  he 
might  have  potted  me,  without  a  show,  a 
dozen  times  in  the  last  five  minutes." 

She  had  not  thought  since  of  her  father's 
enemy !  It  might  indeed  have  been  he  who 
had  attacked  Jack.  But  she  made  a  quick 
point  of  the  suggestion.  "Run  in,  dad, 
run  in  and  find  the  gun ;  you  've  got  no  show 
out  here  without  it."  She  seized  him  by 
the  shoulders  from  behind,  shielding  him 
from  the  woods,  and  hurried  him,  half  ex- 
postulating, half  struggling,  to  the  house. 

But  there  no  gun  was  to  be  found.  It 
was  strange;  it  must  have  been  mislaid  in 
some  corner !  Was  he  sure  he  had  not  left 
it  in  the  barn  ?  But  no  matter  now.  The 
danger  was  over;  the  Larrabee  trick  had 
failed;  he  must  go  to  bed  now,  and  in  the 
morning  they  would  make  a  search  together. 
At  the  same  time  she  had  inwardly  resolved 
to  rise  before  him  and  make  another  search 


208  SALOMY  JANETS  KISS 

of  the  wood,  and  perhaps  —  fearful  joy  as 
she  recalled  her  promise !  —  find  Jack  alive 
and  well,  awaiting  her ! 

Salomy  Jane  slept  little  that  night,  nor 
did  her  father.  But  towards  morning  he 
fell  into  a  tired  man's  slumber  until  the  sun 
was  well  up  the  horizon.  Far  different  was 
it  with  his  daughter :  she  lay  with  her  face 
to  the  window,  her  head  half  lifted  to  catch 
every  sound,  from  the  creaking  of  the  sun- 
warped  shingles  above  her  head  to  the  far-off 
moan  of  the  rising  wind  in  the  pine  trees. 
Sometimes  she  fell  into  a  breathless,  half- 
ecstatic  trance,  living  over  every  moment  of 
the  stolen  interview;  feeling  the  fugitive's 
arm  still  around  her,  his  kisses  on  her  lips; 
hearing  his  whispered  voice  in  her  ears  — 
the  birth  of  her  new  life!  This  was  fol- 
lowed again  by  a  period  of  agonizing  dread 
—  that  he  might  even  then  be  lying,  his  life 
ebbing  away,  in  the  woods,  with  her  name 
on  his  lips,  and  she  resting  here  inactive, 
until  she  half  started  from  her  bed  to  go  to 
his  succor.  And  this  went  on  until  a  pale 
opal  glow  came  into  the  sky,  followed  by  a 
still  paler  pink  on  the  summit  of  the  white 
Sierras,  when  she  rose  and  hurriedly  began 
to  dress.  Still  so  sanguine  was  her  hope  of 


SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS  209 

meeting  him,  that  she  lingered  yet  a  moment 
to  select  the  brown  holland  skirt  and  yellow 
sunbonnet  she  had  worn  when  she  first  saw 
him.  And  she  had  only  seen  him  twice! 
Only  twice !  It  would  be  cruel,  too  cruel, 
pot  to  see  him  again ! 

She  crept  softly  down  the  stairs,  listening 
to  the  long-drawn  breathing  of  her  father 
in  his  bedroom,  and  then,  by  the  light  of  a 
guttering  candle,  scrawled  a  note  to  him, 
begging  him  not  to  trust  himself  out  of  the 
house  until  she  returned  from  her  search, 
and  leaving  the  note  open  on  the  table, 
swiftly  ran  out  into  the  growing  day. 

Three  hours  afterwards  Mr.  Madison 
Clay  awoke  to  the  sound  of  loud  knocking. 
At  first  this  forced  itself  upon  his  conscious- 
ness as  his  daughter's  regular  morning  sum- 
mons, and  was  responded  to  by  a  grunt  of 
recognition  and  a  nestling  closer  in  the 
blankets.  Then  he  awoke  with  a  start  and 
a  muttered  oath,  remembering  the  events  of 
last  night,  and  his  intention  to  get  up  early, 
and  rolled  out  of  bed.  Becoming  aware  by 
this  time  that  the  knocking  was  at  the  outer 
door,  and  hearing  the  shout  of  a  familiar 
voice,  he  hastily  pulled  on  his  boots,  his 
jean  trousers,  and  fastening  a  single  sus- 


210  SALOMY  JANETS  KISS 

pender  over  his  shoulder  as  he  clattered 
downstairs,  stood  in  the  lower  room.  The 
door  was  open,  and  waiting  upon  the  thresh- 
old was  his  kinsman,  an  old  ally  in  many  a 
blood-feud  —  Breckenridge  Clay ! 

"You  are  a  cool  one,  Mad!"  said  the 
latter  in  half -admiring  indignation. 

"What 's  up  ?  "  said  the  bewildered  Madi- 
son. * 

"  You  ought  to  be,  and  scootin'  out  o' 
this,"  said  Breckenridge  grimly.  "It's  all 
very  well  to  '  know  nothin' ; '  but  here  Phil 
Larrabee's  friends  hev  just  picked  him  up, 
drilled  through  with  slugs  and  deader  nor  a 
crow,  and  now  they  're  lettin'  loose  Larra- 
bee's two  half-brothers  on  you.  And  you 
must  go  like  a  derned  fool  and  leave  these 
yer  things  behind  you  in  the  bresh,"  he 
went  on  querulously,  lifting  Madison  Clay's 
dust-coat,  hat,  and  shotgun  from  his  horse, 
which  stood  saddled  at  the  door.  "Luckily 
I  picked  them  up  in  the  woods  comin'  here. 
Ye  ain't  got  more  than  time  to  get  over  the 
state  line  and  among  your  folks  thar  afore 
they  '11  be  down  on  you.  Hustle,  old  man ! 
What  are  you  gawkin'  and  star  in'  at?" 

Madison  Clay  had  stared  amazed  and  be- 
wildered—  horror-stricken.  The  incidents 


SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS  211 

of  the  past  night  for  the  first  time  flashed 
upon  him  clearly  —  hopelessly!  The  shot; 
his  finding  Salomy  Jane  alone  in  the  woods ; 
her  confusion  and  anxiety  to  rid  herself  of 
him;  the  disappearance  of  the  shotgun;  and 
now  this  new  discovery  of  the  taking  of  his 
hat  and  coat  for  a  disguise !  She  had  killed 
Phil  Larrabee  in  that  disguise,  after  pro- 
voking his  first  harmless  shot!  She,  his 
own  child,  Salomy  Jane,  had  disgraced  her- 
self by  a  man's  crime;  had  disgraced  him  by 
usurping  his  right,  and  taking  a  mean  ad- 
vantage, by  deceit,  of  a  foe ! 

"Gimme  that  gun,"  he  said  hoarsely. 

Breckenridge  handed  him  the  gun  in  won- 
der and  slowly  gathering  suspicion.  Madi- 
son examined  nipple  and  muzzle ;  one  barrel 
had  been  discharged.  It  was  true!  The 
gun  dropped  from  his  hand. 

"Look  here,  old  man,"  said  Brecken- 
ridge, with  a  darkening  face,  "there  's  bin 
no  foul  play  here.  Thar  's  bin  no  hiring  of 
men,  no  deputy  to  do  this  job.  You  did  it 
fair  and  square  —  yourself?  " 

"Yes,  by  God!  "  burst  out  Madison  Clay 
in  a  hoarse  voice.  "Who  says  I  did  n't?  " 

Eeassured,  yet  believing  that  Madison 
Clay  had  nerved  himself  for  the  act  by  an 


212  SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS 

over-draught  of  whiskey,  which  had  affected 
his  memory,  Breckenridge  said  curtly, 
"  Then  wake  up  and  '  lite  '  out,  ef  ye  want 
me  to  stand  by  you." 

"  Go  to  the  corral  and  pick  me  out  a  hoss," 
said  Madison  slowly,  yet  not  without  a  cer- 
tain dignity  of  manner.  "I've  suthin'  to 
say  to  Salomy  Jane  afore  I  go."  He  was 
holding  her  scribbled  note,  which  he  had 
just  discovered,  in  his  shaking  hand. 

Struck  by  his  kinsman's  manner,  and 
knowing  the  dependent  relations  of  father 
and  daughter,  Breckenridge  nodded  and 
hurried  away.  Left  to  himself,  Madison 
Clay  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  and 
straightened  out  the  paper  on  which  Salomy 
Jane  had  scrawled  her  note,  turned  it  over, 
and  wrote  on  the  back :  — 

You  might  have  told  me  you  did  it,  and 
not  leave  your  ole  father  to  find  it  out  how 
you  disgraced  yourself  and  him,  too,  by 
a  low-down,  underhanded,  woman's  trick! 
I  've  said  I  done  it,  and  took  the  blame  my>. 
self,  and  all  the  sneakiness  of  it  that  folks 
suspect.  If  I  get  away  alive  —  and  I  don't 
care  much  which  —  you  need  n't  f oiler.  The 
house  and  stock  are  yours;  but  you  ain't 


SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS  213 

any  longer  the  daughter  of  your  disgraced 
father,  MADISON  CLAY. 

He  had  scarcely  finished  the  note  when, 
with  a  clatter  of  hoofs  and  a  led  horse, 
Breckenridge  reappeared  at  the  door  elate 
and  triumphant.  "You 're  in  nigger  luck, 
Mad!  I  found  that  stole  hoss  of  Judge 
Boompointer's  had  got  away  and  strayed 
among  your  stock  in  the  corral.  Take  him 
and  you're  safe;  he  can't  be  outrun  this 
side  of  the  state  line." 

"I  ain't  no  hoss-thief,"  said  Madison 
grimly. 

"Nobody  sez  ye  are,  but  you  'd  be  wuss 

—  a  fool  —  ef  you  did  n't  take  him.     I  'm 
testimony  that  you  found  him  among  your 
bosses ;  I  '11  tell  Judge  Boompointer  you  've 
got  him,  and  ye  kin  send  him  back  when 
you  're   safe.     The   judge   will   be   mighty 
glad  to  get  him  back,  and  call  it  quits.     So 
ef  you  've  writ  to  Salomy  Jane,  come." 

Madison  Clay  no  longer  hesitated.  Sa- 
lomy Jane  might  return  at  any  moment,  —  it 
would  be  part  of  her  "fool  womanishness," 

—  and  he  was  in  no  mood  to  see  her  before 
a  third  party.     He  laid  the   note   on  the 
table,   gave   a   hurried   glance   around  the 


214  SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS 

house,  which  he  grimly  believed  he  was 
leaving  forever,  and,  striding  to  the  door, 
leaped  on  the  stolen  horse,  and  swept  away 
with  his  kinsman. 

But  that  note  lay  for  a  week  undisturbed 
on  the  table  in  full  view  of  the  open  door. 
The  house  was  invaded  by  leaves,  pine  cones, 
birds,  and  squirrels  during  the  hot,  silent, 
empty  days,  and  at  night  by  shy,  stealthy 
creatures,  but  never  again,  day  or  night,  by 
any  of  the  Clay  family.  It  was  known  in 
the  district  that  Clay  had  flown  across  the 
state  line,  his  daughter  was  believed  to  have 
joined  him  the  next  day,  and  the  house  was 
supposed  to  be  locked  up.  It  lay  off  the 
main  road,  and  few  passed  that  way.  The 
starving  cattle  in  the  corral  at  last  broke 
bounds  and  spread  over  the  woods.  And 
one  night  a  stronger  blast  than  usual  swept 
through  the  house,  carried  the  note  from 
the  table  to  the  floor,  where,  whirled  into  a 
crack  in  the  flooring,  it  slowly  rotted. 

But  though  the  sting  of  her  father's  re- 
proach was  spared  her,  Salomy  Jane  had  no 
need  of  the  letter  to  know  what  had  hap- 
pened. For  as  she  entered  the  woods  in  the 
dim  light  of  that  morning  she  saw  the  figure 
of  Dart  gliding  from  the  shadow  of  a  pine 


SALOMY  JANES  KISS  215 

towards  her.  The  unaffected  cry  of  joy  that 
rose  from  her  lips  died  there  as  she  caught 
sight  of  his  face  in  the  open  light. 

"You  are  hurt,"  she  said,  clutching  his 
arm  passionately. 

"No,"  he  said.  "But  I  would  n't  mind 
that  if" — 

"You're  thinkin'  I  was  afeard  to  come 
back  last  night  when  I  heard  the  shootin', 
but  I  did  come,"  she  went  on  feverishly. 
"I  ran  back  here  when  I  heard  the  two 
shots,  but  you  were  gone.  I  went  to  the 
corral,  but  your  hoss  wasn't  there,  and  I 
thought  you  'd  got  away." 

"I  did  get  away,"  said  Dart  gloomily. 
"I  killed  the  man,  thinkin'  he  was  huntin' 
me,  and  forgettin'  I  was  disguised.  He 
thought  I  was  your  father." 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl  joyfully,  "he  was 
after  dad,  and  you  —  you  killed  him."  She 
again  caught  his  hand  admiringly. 

But  he  did  not  respond.  Possibly  there 
were  points  of  honor  which  this  horse-thief 
felt  vaguely  with  her  father.  "Listen,"  he 
said  grimly.  "Others  think  it  was  your 
father  killed  him.  When  /did  it  —  for  he 
fired  at  me  first  —  I  ran  to  the  corral  again 
and  took  my  hoss,  thinkin'  I  might  be  fol- 


216  SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS 

lered.  I  made  a  clear  circuit  of  the  house, 
and  when  I  found  he  was  the  only  one,  and 
no  one  was  follerin',  I  come  back  here  and 
took  off  my  disguise.  Then  I  heard  his 
friends  find  him  in  the  wood,  and  I  know 
they  suspected  your  father.  And  then  an- 
other man  come  through  the  woods  while  I 
was  hidin'  and  found  the  clothes  and  took 
them  away."  He  stopped  and  stared  at  her 
gloomily. 

But  all  this  was  unintelligible  to  the  girl. 
"Dad  would  have  got  the  better  of  him  ef 
you  hadn't,"  she  said  eagerly,  "so  what's 
the  difference?" 

"All  the  same,"  he  said  gloomily,  "I 
must  take  his  place." 

She  did  not  understand,  but  turned  her 
head  to  her  master.  "Then  you  '11  go  back 
with  me  and  tell  him  all?"  she  said  obedi- 
ently. 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

She  put  her  hand  in  his,  and  they  crept 
out  of  the  wood  together.  She  foresaw  a 
thousand  difficulties,  but,  chiefest  of  all, 
that  he  did  not  love  as  she  did.  She  would 
not  have  taken  these  risks  against  their  hap- 
piness. 

But   alas  for   ethics   and   heroism.      As 


SALOMY  JANETS  KISS  217 

they  were  issuing  from  the  wood  they  heard 
the  sound  of  galloping  hoofs,  and  had  barely 
time  to  hide  themselves  before  Madison 
Clay,  on  the  stolen  horse  of  Judge  Boom- 
pointer,  swept  past  them  with  his  kinsman. 
Salomy  Jane  turned  to  her  lover. 

And  here  I  might,  as  a  moral  romancer, 
pause,  leaving  the  guilty,  passionate  girl 
eloped  with  her  disreputable  lover,  destined 
to  lifelong  shame  and  misery,  misunderstood 
to  the  last  by  a  criminal,  fastidious  parent. 
But  I  am  confronted  by  certain  facts,  on 
which  this  romance  is  based.  A  month  later 
a  handbill  was  posted  on  one  of  the  sentinel 
pines,  announcing  that  the  property  would 
be  sold  by  auction  to  the  highest  bidder  by 
Mrs.  John  Dart,  daughter  of  Madison  Clay, 
Esq.,  and  it  was  sold  accordingly.  Still 
later  —  by  ten  years  —  the  chronicler  of 
these  pages  visited  a  certain  "stock"  or 
"breeding  farm,"  in  the  "Blue  Grass  Coun- 
try," famous  for  the  popular  racers  it  has 
produced.  He  was  told  that  the  owner  was 
the  "  best  judge  of  horse-flesh  in  the  country." 
"Small  wonder,"  added  his  informant,  "for 
they  say  as  a  young  man  out  in  California 
he  was  a  horse-thief,  and  only  saved  himself 


218  SALOMY  JANE'S  KISS 

by  eloping  with  some  rich  farmer's  daugh- 
ter. But  he  's  a  straight-out  and  respecta- 
ble man  now,  whose  word  about  horses  can't 
be  bought;  and  as  for  his  wife,  she  's  a 
beauty !  To  see  her  at  the  '  Springs,'  rigged 
out  in  the  latest  fashion,  you  'd  never  think 
she  had  ever  lived  out  of  New  York  or 
wasn't  the  wife  of  one  of  its  millionaires." 


THE  MAN  AND  THE  MOUNTAIN 

HE  was  such  a  large,  strong  man  that, 
when  he  first  set  foot  in  the  little  parallelo- 
gram I  called  my  garden,  it  seemed  to  shrink 
to  half  its  size  and  become  preposterous. 
But  I  noticed  at  the  same  time  that  he  was 
holding  in  the  open  palm  of  his  huge  hand 
the  roots  of  a  violet,  with  such  infinite  ten- 
derness and  delicacy  that  I  would  have 
engaged  him  as  my  gardener  on  the  spot. 
But  this  could  not  be,  as  he  was  already  the 
proud  proprietor  of  a  market-garden  and 
nursery  on  the  outskirts  of  the  suburban 
Californian  town  where  I  lived.  He  would, 
however,  come  for  two  days  in  the  week, 
stock  and  look  after  my  garden,  and  impart 
to  my  urban  intellect  such  horticultural 
hints  as  were  necessary.  His  name  was 
"Riitli,"  which  I  presumed  to  be  German, 
but  which  my  neighbors  rendered  as  "Root- 
leigh,"  possibly  from  some  vague  connection 
with  his  occupation.  His  own  knowledge 
of  English  was  oral  and  phonetic.  I  have 


220      THE  MAN  AND   THE  MOUNTAIN 

a  delightful  recollection  of  a  bill  of  his  in 
which  I  was  charged  for  "fioletz,"  with  the 
vague  addition  of  "maine  cains."  Subse- 
quent explanation  proved  it  to  be  "many 
kinds." 

Nevertheless,  my  little  garden  bourgeoned 
and  blossomed  under  his  large,  protecting 
hand.  I  became  accustomed  to  walk  around 
his  feet  respectfully  when  they  blocked  the 
tiny  paths,  and  to  expect  the  total  eclipse  of 
that  garden-bed  on  which  he  worked,  by  his 
huge  bulk.  For  the  tiniest  and  most  reluc- 
tant rootlet  seemed  to  respond  to  his  caress- 
ing paternal  touch ;  it  was  a  pretty  sight  to 
see  his  huge  fingers  tying  up  some  slender 
stalk  to  its  stick  with  the  smallest  thread, 
and  he  had  a  reverent  way  of  laying  a  bulb 
or  seed  in  the  ground,  and  then  gently  shap- 
ing and  smoothing  a  small  mound  over  it, 
which  made  the  little  inscription  on  the  stick 
above  more  like  an  affecting  epitaph  than 
ever.  Much  of  this  gentleness  may  have 
been  that  apology  for  his  great  strength,  com- 
mon with  large  men;  but  his  face  was  dis- 
tinctly amiable,  and  his  very  light  blue  eye* 
were  at  times  wistful  and  doglike  in  their 
kindliness.  I  was  soon  to  learn,  however, 
that  placability  was  not  entirely  his  nature. 


THE  MAN  AND   THE  MOUNTAIN     221 

The  garden  was  part  of  a  fifty  vara  lot  of 
land,  011  which  I  was  simultaneously  erect- 
ing a  house.  But  the  garden  was  finished 
before  the  house  was,  through  certain  cir- 
cumstances very  characteristic  of  that  epoch 
and  civilization.  I  had  purchased  the  Span- 
ish title,  the  only  legal  one,  to  the  land, 
which,  however,  had  been  in  possession  of 
a  "squatter."  But  he  had  been  unable  to 
hold  that  possession  against  a  "jumper,"  — 
another  kind  of  squatter  who  had  entered 
upon  it  covertly,  fenced  it  in,  and  marked  it 
out  in  building  sites.  Neither  having  legal 
rights,  they  could  not  invoke  the  law;  the 
last  man  held  possession.  There  was  no 
doubt  that  in  due  course  of  litigation  and 
time  both  these  ingenuous  gentlemen  would 
have  been  dispossessed  in  favor  of  the  real 
owner,  —  myself,  —  but  that  course  would  be 
a  protracted  one.  Following  the  usual  cus- 
tom of  the  locality,  I  paid  a  certain  sum  to 
the  jumper  to  yield  up  peaceably  his  posses- 
sion of  the  land,  and  began  to  build  upon  it. 
It  might  be  reasonably  supposed  that  the 
question  was  settled.  But  it  was  not.  The 
house  was  nearly  finished  when,  one  morn- 
ing, I  was  called  out  of  my  editorial  sanctum 
by  a  pallid  painter,  looking  even  more  white* 


222      THE  MAN  AND   THE  MOUNTAIN 

leaded  than  usual,  who  informed  me  that 
my  house  was  in  the  possession  of  five  armed 
men !  The  entry  had  been  made  peaceably 
during  the  painters'  absence  to  dinner  under 
a  wayside  tree.  When  they  returned,  they 
had  found  their  pots  and  brushes  in  the 
road,  and  an  intimation  from  the  windows 
that  their  reentrance  would  be  forcibly  re- 
sisted as  a  trespass. 

I  honestly  believe  that  Eiitli  was  more 
concerned  than  myself  over  this  disposses- 
sion. While  he  loyally  believed  that  I  would 
get  back  my  property,  he  was  dreadfully 
grieved  over  the  inevitable  damage  that 
would  be  done  to  the  garden  during  this  in- 
terval of  neglect  and  carelessness.  I  even 
think  he  would  have  made  a  truce  with  my 
enemies,  if  they  would  only  have  let  him 
look  after  his  beloved  plants.  As  it  was, 
he  kept  a  passing  but  melancholy  surveil- 
lance of  them,  and  was  indeed  a  better  spy 
of  the  actions  of  the  intruders  than  any  I 
could  have  employed.  One  day,  to  my  as- 
tonishment, he  brought  me  a  moss-rose  bud 
from  a  bush  which  had  been  trained  against 
a  column  of  the  veranda.  It  appeared  that 
he  had  called,  from  over  the  fence,  the  at- 
tention of  one  of  the  men  to  the  neglected 


THE  MAN  AND  THE  MOUNTAIN     223 

condition  of  the  plant,  and  had  obtained 
permission  to  "come  in  and  tie  it  up."  The 
men,  being  merely  hirelings  of  the  chief 
squatter,  had  no  personal  feeling,  and  I  was 
not  therefore  surprised  to  hear  that  they 
presently  allowed  Riitli  to  come  in  occasion- 
ally and  look  after  his  precious  "slips."  If 
they  had  any  suspicions  of  his  great  strength, 
it  was  probably  offset  by  his  peaceful  avoca- 
tion and  his  bland,  childlike  face.  Mean- 
time, I  had  begun  the  usual  useless  legal 
proceeding,  but  had  also  engaged  a  few  ras- 
cals of  my  own  to  be  ready  to  take  advan- 
tage of  any  want  of  vigilance  on  the  part  of 
my  adversaries.  I  never  thought  of  Riitli 
in  that  connection  any  more  than  they  had. 

A  few  Sundays  later  I  was  sitting  in  the 
little  tea-arbor  of  Riitli 's  nursery,  peacefully 
smoking  with  him.  Presently  he  took  his 
long  china-bowled  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and, 
looking  at  me  blandly  over  his  yellow  mus- 
tache, said:  — 

"You  vonts  sometimes  to  go  in  dot  house, 
eh?" 

I  said,  "Decidedly." 

"Mit  a  revolver,  and  keep  dot  house  dose 
men  out?" 

"Yes!" 


224      THE  MAN  AND   THE  MOUNTAIN 

"Veil!  I  put  you  in  dot  house  —  to- 
day!" 

"Sunday?" 

"  Shoost  so !  It  is  a  goot  day !  On  der 
Suntay  dree  men  vill  out  go  to  valk  mit 
demselluffs,  and  visky  trinken.  Two"  hold- 
ing up  two  gigantic  fingers,  apparently  only 
a  shade  or  two  smaller  than  his  destined  vic- 
tims, "stay  dere.  Dose  I  lift  de  fence  over." 

I  hastened  to  inform  him  that  any  vio- 
lence attempted  against  the  parties  ivhile  in 
possession,  although  that  possession  was  il- 
legal, would,  by  a  fatuity  of  the  law,  land 
him  in  the  county  jail.  I  said  I  would  not 
hear  of  it. 

"But  suppose  dere  vos  no  fiolence?  Sup- 
pose dose  men  vos  villin',  eh?  How  vos  dot 
for  high?" 

"I  don't  understand." 

"So!  You  shall  not  understand!  Dot 
is  better.  Go  away  now  and  dell  your  men 
to  coom  dot  house  arount  at  halluff  past 
dree.  But  you  coom,  mit  yourselluff  alone, 
shoost  as  if  you  vos  spazieren  gehen,  for  a 
valk,  by  dat  fence  at  dree !  Ven  you  shall 
dot  front  door  vide  open  see,  go  in,  and  dere 
you  vos !  You  vill  der  rest  leef  to  me !  " 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  begged  Riitli  to  di- 


THE  MAN  AND   TEE  MOUNTAIN     225 

vulge  his  plan,  and  pointed  out  again  the 
danger  of  his  technically  breaking  the  law. 
But  he  was  firm,  assuring  me  that  I  my- 
self would  be  a  witness  that  no  assault 
would  be  made.  I  looked  into  his  clear, 
good-humored  eyes,  and  assented.  I  had  a 
burning  desire  to  right  my  wrongs,  but  I 
think  I  also  had  considerable  curiosity. 

I  passed  a  miserable  quarter  of  an  hour 
after  I  had  warned  my  partisans,  and  then 
walked  alone  slowly  down  the  broad  leafy 
street  towards  the  scene  of  contest.  I  have 
a  very  vivid  recollection  of  my  conflicting 
emotions.  I  did  not  believe  that  I  would 
be  killed ;  I  had  no  distinct  intention  of  kill- 
ing any  of  my  adversaries;  but  I  had  some 
considerable  concern  for  my  loyal  friend 
Kiitli,  whom  I  foresaw  might  be  in  some 
peril  from  the  revolver  in  my  unpracticed 
hand.  If  I  could  only  avoid  shooting  him, 
I  would  be  satisfied.  I  remember  that  the 
bells  were  ringing  for  church,  —  a  church  of 
which  my  enemy,  the  chief  squatter,  was  a 
deacon  in  good  standing,  —  and  I  felt  guiltily 
conscious  of  my  revolver  in  my  hip-pocket, 
as  two  or  three  church-goers  passed  me  with 
their  hymn-books  in  their  hands.  I  walked 
leisurely,  so  as  not  to  attract  attention,  and 


226      THE  MAN  AND  THE  MOUNTAIN 

to  appear  at  the  exact  time,  a  not  very  easy 
task  in  my  youthful  excitement.  At  last  I 
reached  the  front  gate  with  a  beating  heart. 
There  was  no  one  on  the  high  veranda,  which 
occupied  three  sides  of  the  low  one-storied 
house,  nor  in  the  garden  before  it.  But  the 
front  door  was  open ;  I  softly  passed  through 
the  gate,  darted  up  the  veranda  and  into  the 
house.  A  single  glance  around  the  hall  and 
bare,  deserted  rooms,  still  smelling  of  paint, 
showed  me  it  was  empty,  and  with  my  pistol 
in  one  hand  and  the  other  on  the  lock  of  the 
door,  I  stood  inside,  ready  to  bolt  it  against 
any  one  but  Riitli.  But  where  was  lie  ? 

The  sound  of  laughter  and  a  noise  like 
skylarking  came  from  the  rear  of  the  house 
and  the  back  yard.  Then  I  suddenly  heard 
Kiitli's  heavy  tread  on  the  veranda,  but  it 
was  slow,  deliberate,  and  so  exaggerated  in 
its  weight  that  the  whole  house  seemed  to 
shake  with  it.  Then  from  the  window  I  be- 
held an  extraordinary  sight !  It  was  Kiitli, 
swaying  from  side  to  side,  but  steadily  car- 
rying with  outstretched  arms  two  of  the 
squatter  party,  his  hands  tightly  grasping 
their  collars.  Yet  I  believe  his  touch  was 
as  gentle  as  with  the  violets.  His  face  was 
preternaturally  grave ;  theirs,  to  my  intense 


THE  MAN  AND  THE  MOUNTAIN     227 

astonishment,  while  they  hung  passive  from 
his  arms,  wore  that  fatuous,  imbecile  smile 
seen  on  the  faces  of  those  who  lend  them- 
selves to  tricks  of  acrobats  and  strong  men 
in  the  arena.  He  slowly  traversed  the  whole 
length  of  one  side  of  the  house,  walked  down 
the  steps  to  the  gate,  and  then  gravely  de- 
posited them  outside.  I  heard  him  say, 
"Dot  vins  der  pet,  ain't  it?"  and  immedi- 
ately after  the  sharp  click  of  the  gate-latch. 

Without  understanding  a  thing  that  had 
happened,  I  rightly  conceived  this  was  the 
cue  for  my  appearance  with  my  revolver  at 
the  front  door.  As  I  opened  it  I  still  heard 
the  sound  of  laughter,  which,  however,  in- 
stantly stopped  at  a  sentence  from  Kiitli, 
which  I  could  not  hear.  There  was  an  oath, 
the  momentary  apparition  of  two  furious 
and  indignant  faces  over  the  fence;  but 
these,  however,  seemed  to  be  instantly  ex- 
tinguished and  put  down  by  the  enormous 
palms  of  Riitli  clapped  upon  their  heads. 
There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Riitli  turned 
around  and  quietly  joined  me  in  the  door- 
way. But  the  gate  was  not  again  opened 
until  the  arrival  of  my  partisans,  when  the 
house  was  clearly  in  my  possession. 

Safe  inside  with  the  door  bolted,  I  turned 


228      THE  MAN  AND  THE  MOUNTAIN 

eagerly  to  Riitli  for  an  explanation.  It 
then  appeared  that  during  his  occasional 
visits  to  the  garden  he  had  often  been  an 
object  of  amusement  and  criticism  to  the 
men  on  account  of  his  size,  which  seemed  to 
them  ridiculously  inconsistent  with  his  great 
good  humor,  gentleness,  and  delicacy  of 
touch.  They  had  doubted  his  strength  and 
challenged  his  powers.  He  had  responded 
once  or  twice  before,  lifting  weights  or  even 
carrying  one  of  his  critics  at  arm's  length 
for  a  few  steps.  But  he  had  reserved  his 
final  feat  for  this  day  and  this  purpose.  It 
was  for  a  bet,  which  they  had  eagerly  ac- 
cepted, secure  in  their  belief  in  his  simpli- 
city, the  sincerity  of  his  motives  in  coming 
there,  and  glad  of  the  opportunity  of  a  little 
Sunday  diversion.  In  their  security  they 
had  not  locked  the  door  when  they  came 
out,  and  had  not  noticed  that  he  had  opened 
it.  This  was  his  simple  story.  His  only 
comment,  "I  haf  von  der  pet,  but  I  dinks 
I  shall  nod  gollect  der  money."  The  two 
men  did  not  return  that  afternoon,  nor  did 
their  comrades.  Whether  they  wisely  con- 
ceived that  a  man  who  was  so  powerful  in 
play  might  be  terrible  in  earnest;  whether 
they  knew  that  his  act,  in  which  they  had 


THE  MAN  AND   THE  MOUNTAIN     229 

been  willing  performers,  had  been  witnessed 
by  passing  citizens,  who  supposed  it  was 
skylarking;  or  whether  their  employer  got 
tired  of  his  expensive  occupation,  I  never 
knew.  The  public  believed  the  latter; 
Eiitli,  myself,  and  the  two  men  he  had 
evicted  alone  kept  our  secret. 

From  that  time  Kiitli  and  I  became  firm 
friends,  and,  long  after  I  had  no  further 
need  of  his  services  in  the  recaptured  house, 
I  often  found  myself  in  the  little  tea-arbor 
of  his  prosperous  nursery.  He  was  frugal, 
sober,  and  industrious;  small  wonder  that 
in  that  growing  town  he  waxed  rich,  and 
presently  opened  a  restaurant  in  the  main 
street,  connected  with  his  market-garden, 
which  became  famous.  His  relations  to  me 
never  changed  with  his  changed  fortunes; 
he  was  always  the  simple  market-gardener 
and  florist  who  had  aided  my  first  house- 
keeping, and  stood  by  me  in  an  hour  of 
need.  Of  all  things  regarding  himself  he 
was  singularly  reticent;  I  do  not  think  he 
had  any  confidants  or  intimates,  even  among 
his  own  countrymen,  whom  I  believed  to  be 
German.  But  one  day  he  quite  acciden- 
tally admitted  he  was  a  Swiss.  As  a  youth- 
ful admirer  of  the  race  I  was  delighted,  and 


230      THE  MAN  AND   THE  MOUNTAIN 

told  him  so,  with  the  enthusiastic  addition 
that  I  could  now  quite  understand  his  inde- 
pendence, with  his  devoted  adherence  to  an- 
other's cause.  He  smiled  sadly,  and  aston- 
ished me  by  saying  that  he  had  not  heard 
from  Switzerland  since  he  left  six  years 
ago.  He  did  not  want  to  hear  anything; 
he  even  avoided  his  countrymen  lest  he 
should.  I  was  confounded. 

"But,"  I  said,  "surely  you  have  a  long- 
ing to  return  to  your  country;  all  Swiss 
have !  You  will  go  back  some  day  just  to 
breathe  the  air  of  your  native  mountains." 

"I  shall  go  back  some  days,"  said  Riitli, 
"after  I  have  made  mooch,  mooch  money, 
but  not  for  dot  air." 

"What  for,  then?" 

"For  revenge  —  to  get  efen." 

Surprised,  and  for  a  moment  dismayed  as 
I  was,  I  could  not  help  laughing.  "  Kiitli 
and  revenge !  "  Impossible !  And  to  make 
it  the  more  absurd,  he  was  still  smoking 
gently  and  regarding  me  with  soft,  compla- 
cent eyes.  So  unchanged  was  his  face  and 
manner  that  he  might  have  told  me  he  was 
going  back  to  be  married. 

"You  do  not  oonderstand,"  he  said  for- 
givingly. "Some  days  I  shall  dell  to  you 


THE  MAN  AND   THE  MOUNTAIN     231 

id.  Id  is  a  story.  You  shall  make  it  your- 
selluff  for  dose  babers  dot  you  write.  It  is 
not  bretty,  berhaps,  ain't  it,  but  it  is  droo. 
And  de  endt  is  not  yet." 

Only  that  Kiitli  never  joked,  except  in  a 
ponderous  fashion  with  many  involved  sen- 
tences, I  should  have  thought  he  was  taking 
a  good-humored  rise  out  of  me.  But  it  was 
not  funny.  I  am  afraid  I  dismissed  it  from 
my  mind  as  a  revelation  of  something  weak 
and  puerile,  quite  inconsistent  with  his  prac- 
tical common  sense  and  strong  simplicity, 
and  wished  he  had  not  alluded  to  it.  I 
never  asked  him  to  tell  me  the  story.  It 
was  a  year  later,  and  only  when  he  had  in- 
vited me  to  come  to  the  opening  of  a  new 
hotel,  erected  by  him  at  a  mountain  spa  of 
great  resort,  that  he  himself  alluded  to  it. 

The  hotel  was  a  wonderful  affair,  even 
for  those  days,  and  Kiitli 's  outlay  of  capital 
convinced  me  that  by  this  time  he  must 
have  made  the  "mooch  money"  he  coveted. 
Something  of  this  was  in  my  mind  when  we 
sat  by  the  window  of  his  handsomely  fur- 
nished private  office,  overlooking  the  pines 
of  a  Californian  canon.  I  asked  him  if  the 
scenery  was  like  Switzerland. 

"Ach!  no!"  he  replied;  "but  I  villpuild 
a  hotel  shoost  like  dis  dare." 


232      THE  MAN  AND   THE  MOUNTAIN 

"Is  that  a  part  of  your  revenge? "  1 
asked,  with  a  laugh. 

"Ah!  so!  abart." 

I  felt  relieved ;  a  revenge  so  practical  did 
not  seem  very  malicious  or  idiotic.  After 
a  pause  he  puffed  contemplatively  at  his 
pipe,  and  then  said,  "  I  dell  you  somedings 
of  dot  story  now." 

He  began.  I  should  like  to  tell  it  in  his 
own  particular  English,  mixed  with  Ameri- 
can slang,  but  it  would  not  convey  the  sim- 
plicity of  the  narrator.  He  was  the  son  of 
a  large  family  who  had  lived  for  centuries 
in  one  of  the  highest  villages  in  the  Bernese 
Oberland.  He  attained  his  size  and  strength 
early,  but  with  a  singular  distaste  to  use 
them  in  the  rough  regular  work  on  the  farm, 
although  he  was  a  great  climber  and  moun- 
taineer, and,  what  was  at  first  overlooked  as 
mere  boyish  fancy,  had  an  insatiable  love 
and  curious  knowledge  of  plants  and  flowers. 
He  knew  the  haunts  of  Edelweiss,  Alpine 
rose,  and  blue  gentian,  and  had  brought 
home  rare  and  unknown  blossoms  from  un- 
der the  icy  lips  of  glaciers.  But  as  he  did 
this  when  his  time  was  supposed  to  be  occu- 
pied in  looking  after  the  cows  in  the  higher 
pastures  and  making  cheeses,  there  was  trou- 


THE  MAN  AND   THE  MOUNTAIN     233 

ble  in  that  hard-working,  practical  family. 
A  giant  with  the  tastes  and  disposition  of  a 
schoolgirl  was  an  anomaly  in  a  Swiss  vil- 
lage. Unfortunately  again,  he  was  not  stu- 
dious ;  his  record  in  the  village  school  had 
been  on  a  par  with  his  manual  work,  and 
the  family  had  not  even  the  consolation  of 
believing  that  they  were  fostering  a  genius. 
In  a  community  where  practical  industry 
was  the  highest  virtue,  it  was  not  strange, 
perhaps,  that  he  was  called  "lazy "  and 
"shiftless;"  no  one  knew  the  long  climbs 
and  tireless  vigils  he  had  undergone  in  ret 
mote  solitudes  in  quest  of  his  favorites,  or, 
knowing,  forgave  him  for  it.  Abstemious, 
frugal,  and  patient  as  he  was,  even  the 
crusts  of  his  father's  table  were  given  him 
grudgingly.  He  often  went  hungry  rather 
than  ask  the  bread  he  had  failed  to  earn. 
How  his  great  frame  was  nurtured  in  those 
days  he  never  knew;  perhaps  the  giant 
mountains  recognized  some  kin  in  him  and 
fed  and  strengthened  him  after  their  own 
fashion.  Even  his  gentleness  was  con- 
founded with  cowardice.  "  Dot  vos  de  hardt- 
est,"  he  said  simply;  "it  is  not  goot  to  be 
opligit  to  half  crush  your  brudder,  ven  he 
would  make  a  laugh  of  you  to  your  sweet* 


234      THE  MAN  AND   THE  MOUNTAIN 

heart."  The  end  came  sooner  than  he  ex- 
pected, and,  oddly  enough,  through  this 
sweetheart.  "Gottlieb,"  she  said  to  him 
one  day,  "the  English  Fremde  who  stayed 
here  last  night  met  me  when  I  was  carrying 
some  of  those  beautiful  flowers  you  gave  me. 
He  asked  me  where  they  were  to  be  found, 
and  I  told  him  only  you  knew.  He  wants 
to  see  you;  go  to  him.  It  maybe  luck 'to 
you."  Riitli  went.  The  stranger,  an  Eng- 
lish Alpine  climber  of  scientific  tastes,  talked 
with  him  for  an  hour.  At  the  end  of  that 
time,  to  everybody's  astonishment,  he  en- 
gaged this  hopeless  idler  as  his  personal 
guide  for  three  months,  at  the  sum  of  five 
francs  a  day !  It  was  inconceivable,  it  was 
unheard  of !  The  Englander  was  as  mad  as 
Gottlieb,  whose  intellect  had  always  been 
under  suspicion !  The  schoolmaster  pursed 
up  his  lips,  the  pastor  shook  his  head;  no 
good  could  come  of  it;  the  family  looked 
upon  it  as  another  freak  of  Gottlieb's,  but 
there  was  one  big  mouth  less  to  feed  and 
more  room  in  the  kitchen,  and  they  let  him 
go.  They  parted  from  him  as  ungraciously 
as  they  had  endured  his  presence. 

Then  followed  two  months  of  sunshine  in 
Riitli 's  life  —  association  with  his  beloved 


THE  MAN  AND   THE  MOUNTAIN     235 

plants,  and  the  intelligent  sympathy  and 
direction  of  a  cultivated  man.  Even  in  al- 
titudes so  dangerous  that  they  had  to  take 
other  and  more  experienced  guides,  Riitli 
was  always  at  his  master's  side.  That  sa^ 
vant's  collection  of  Alpine  flora  excelled  all 
previous  ones;  he  talked  freely  with  Riitli 
of  further  work  in  the  future,  and  relaxed 
his  English  reserve  so  far  as  to  confide  to 
him  that  the  outcome  of  their  collection  and 
observation  might  be  a  book.  He  gave  a 
flower  a  Latin  name,  in  which  even  the  ig- 
norant and  delighted  Riitli  could  distinguish 
some  likeness  to  his  own.  But  the  book 
was  never  compiled.  In  one  of  their  later 
and  more  difficult  ascents  they  and  their  two 
additional  guides  were  overtaken  by  a  sud- 
den storm.  Swept  from  their  feet  down  an 
ice-bound  slope,  Riitli  alone  of  the  roped- 
together  party  kept  a  foothold  on  the  treach- 
erous incline.  Here  this  young  Titan,  with 
bleeding  fingers  clenched  in  a  rock  cleft, 
sustained  the  struggles  and  held  up  the  lives 
of  his  companions  by  that  precious  thread 
for  more  than  an  hour.  Perhaps  he  might 
have  saved  them,  but  in  their  desperate  ef- 
forts to  regain  their  footing  the  rope  slipped 
upon  a  jagged  edge  of  outcrop  and  parted  as 


236      THE  MAN  AND   THE  MOUNTAIN 

if  cut  by  a  knife.  The  two  guides  passed 
without  an  outcry  into  obscurity  and  death; 
Riitli,  with  a  last  despairing  exertion, 
dragged  to  his  own  level  his  unconscious 
master,  crippled  by  a  broken  leg. 

Your  true  hero  is  apt  to  tell  his  tale  sim- 
ply. Riitli  did  not  dwell  upon  these  details, 
nor  need  I.  Left  alone  upon  a  treacherous 
ice  slope  in  benumbing  cold,  with  a  helpless 
man,  eight  hours  afterwards  he  staggered, 
half  blind,  incoherent,  and  inarticulate,  into 
a  "shelter"  hut,  with  the  dead  body  of  his 
master  in  his  stiffened  arms.  The  shelter- 
keepers  turned  their  attention  to  Riitli,  who 
needed  it  most.  Blind  and  delirious,  with 
scarce  a  chance  for  life,  he  was  sent  the  next 
day  to  a  hospital,  where  he  lay  for  three 
months,  helpless,  imbecile,  and  unknown. 
The  dead  body  of  the  Englishman  was  iden- 
tified, and  sent  home;  the  bodies  of  the 
guides  were  recovered  by  their  friends;  but 
no  one  knew  aught  of  Riitli,  even  his  name. 
While  the  event  was  still  fresh  in  the  minds 
of  those  who  saw  him  enter  the  hut  with  the 
body  of  his  master,  a  paragraph  appeared  in 
a  Berne  journal  recording  the  heroism  of 
this  nameless  man.  But  it  could  not  be 
corroborated  nor  explained  by  the  demented 


THE  MAN  AND   THE  MOUNTAIN     237 

hero,  and  was  presently  forgotten.  Six 
months  from  the  day  he  had  left  his  home 
he  was  discharged  cured.  He  had  not  a 
kreutzer  in  his  pocket ;  he  had  never  drawn 
his  wages  from  his  employer;  he  had  pre- 
ferred to  have  it  in  a  lump  sum  that  he 
might  astonish  his  family  on  his  return. 
His  eyes  were  still  weak,  his  memory  fee- 
ble; only  his  great  physical  strength  re- 
mained through  his  long  illness.  A  few 
sympathizing  travelers  furnished  him  the 
means  to  reach  his  native  village,  many 
miles  away.  He  found  his  family  had  heard 
of  the  loss  of  the  Englishman  and  the  guides, 
and  had  believed  he  was  one  of  them.  Al- 
ready he  was  forgotten. 

"Ven  you  vos  once  peliefed  to  be  det," 
said  Kiitli,  after  a  philosophic  pause  and 
puff,  "it  vos  not  goot  to  ondeceif  beoples. 
You  oopset  somedings,  soomdimes  always. 
Der  hole  dot  you  hef  made  in  der  grount, 
among  your  frients  and  your  family,  vos 
covered  up  alretty.  You  are  loocky  if  you 
vill  not  fint  some  vellars  shtanding  upon  id ! 
My  frent,  ven  you  vos  dink  det,  shtay  det, 
be  det,  and  you  vill  lif  happy!  " 

"But  your  sweetheart?  "  I  said  eagerly. 

A  slight  gleam  of  satire  stole  into  Eiitli's 


238      THE  MAN  AND   THE  MOUNTAIN 

light  eyes.  "My  sweetheart,  ven  I  vos 
dinks  det,  is  der  miller  engaged  do  bromply ! 
It  is  mooch  better  dan  to  a  man  dot  vos 
boor  and  plint  and  grazy !  So !  Veil,  der 
next  day  I  pids  dem  goot-py,  und  from  der 
door  I  say,  '  I  am  det  now ;  but  ven  I  next 
comes  pack  alife,  I  shall  dis  village  py !  der 
lants,  der  houses  all  togedders.  And  den 
for  yourselluffs  look  oudt !  ' 

"Then  that's  your  revenge?  That  is 
what  you  really  intend  to  do?  "  I  said,  half 
laughing,  yet  with  an  uneasy  recollection  of 
his  illness  and  enfeebled  mind. 

"Yes.  Look  here!  I  show  you  some- 
dings."  He  opened  a  drawer  of  his  desk 
and  took  out  what  appeared  to  be  some  dia- 
grams, plans,  and  a  small  water-colored 
map,  like  a  surveyor's  tracing.  "Look," 
he  said,  laying  his  finger  on  the  latter,  "dat 
is  a  map  from  my  fillage.  I  hef  myselluff 
made  it  out  from  my  memory.  Dot,"  point- 
ing to  a  blank  space,  "is  der  mountain  side 
high  up,  so  far.  It  is  no  goot  until  I  vill 
a  tunnel  make  or  der  grade  lefel.  Dere 
vas  mine  fader's  house,  dere  vos  der  church, 
der  schoolhotise,  dot  vos  de  burgomaster's 
house,"  he  went  on,  pointing  to  the  respec- 
tive plots  in  this  old  curving  parallelogram 


THE  MAN  AND   THE  MOUNTAIN     239 

of  the  mountain  shelf.  "  So  was  the  fillage 
when  I  leave  him  on  the  5th  of  March,  eigh- 
teen hundred  and  feefty.  Now  you  shall 
see  him  shoost  as  I  vill  make  him  ven  I  go 
back."  He  took  up  another  plan,  beauti- 
fully drawn  and  colored,  and  evidently  done 
by  a  professional  hand.  It  was  a  practical, 
yet  almost  fairylike  transformation  of  the 
same  spot !  The  narrow  mountain  shelf  was 
widened  by  excavation,  and  a  boulevard 
stretched  on  either  side.  A  great  hotel,  not 
unlike  the  one  in  which  we  sat,  stood  in  an 
open  terrace,  with  gardens  and  fountains 
—  the  site  of  his  father's  house.  Blocks  of 
pretty  dwellings,  shops,  and  cafes  filled  the 
intermediate  space.  I  laid  down  the  paper. 

"How  long  have  you  had  this  idea?" 

"Efer  since  I  left  dere,  fifteen  years  ago." 

"But  your  father  and  mother  may  be 
dead  by  this  time?" 

"So,  but  dere  vill  be  odders.  Und  der 
blace  —  it  vill  remain." 

"But  all  this  will  cost  a  fortune,  and  you 
are  not  sure  "  — 

"I  know  shoost  vot  id  vill  gost,  to  a 
cend." 

"And  you  think  you  can  ever  afford  to 
carry  out  your  idea?  " 


240      THE  MAN  AND   THE  MOUNTAIN 

"I  vill  affort  id.  Ven  you  shall  make 
yet  some  moneys  and  go  to  Europe,  you 
shall  see.  I  vill  infite  you  dere  first.  Now 
coom  and  look  der  house  around." 

I  did  not  make  "some  moneys,"  but  I  did 
go  to  Europe.  Three  years  after  this  last 
interview  with  Eiitli  I  was  coming  from  In- 
terlaken  to  Berne  by  rail.  I  had  not  heard 
from  him,  and  I  had  forgotten  the  name  of 
his  village,  but  as  I  looked  up  from  the 
paper  I  was  reading,  I  suddenly  recognized 
him  in  the  further  end  of  the  same  compart- 
ment I  occupied.  His  recognition  of  me  was 
evidently  as  sudden  and  unexpected.  After 
our  first  hand-grasp  and  greeting,  I  said :  — 

"And  how  about  our  new  village?" 

"Dere  is  no  fillage." 

"  What !     You  have  given  up  the  idea  ?  " 

"Yes.     There  is  no  fillage,  olt  or  new." 

"I  don't  understand." 

He  looked  at  me  a  moment.  "You  have 
not  heard?" 

"No." 

He  gently  picked  up  a  little  local  guide* 
book  that  lay  in  my  lap,  and  turning  its 
leaves,  pointed  to  a  page,  and  read  as  fol- 
lows :  — 


THE  MAN  AND   THE  MOUNTAIN     241 

"5  M.  beyond,  the  train  passes  a  curve  R., 
where  a  fine  view  of  the  lake  may  be  seen. 
A  little  to  the  R.  rises  the  steep  slopes  of 

the  ,  the  scene  of  a  terrible  disaster. 

At  three  o'clock  on  March  5,  1850,  the  lit- 
tle village  of  ,  lying  midway  of  the 

slope,  with  its  population  of  950  souls,  was 
completely  destroyed  by  a  landslip  from  the 
top  of  the  mountain.  So  sudden  was  the 
catastrophe  that  not  a  single  escape  is  re- 
corded. A  large  portion  of  the  mountain 
crest,  as  will  be  observed  when  it  is  seen  in 
profile,  descended  to  the  valley,  burying  the 
unfortunate  village  to  a  depth  variously  es- 
timated at  from  1000  ft.  to  1800  ft.  The 
geological  causes  which  produced  this  ex- 
traordinary displacement  have  been  fully 
discussed,  but  the  greater  evidence  points 
to  the  theory  of  subterranean  glaciers. 

5  M.  beyond the  train  crosses  the  R. 

bridge." 

I  laid  down  the  guide-book  in  breathless 
astonishment. 

"And  you  never  heard  of  this  in  all  these 
years?" 

"Nefer!  I  asked  no  questions,  I  read 
uo  pooks.  I  have  no  ledders  from  home." 

"And  yet  you  "  —    I  stopped,  I  could  not 


242      THE  MAN  AND  THE  MOUNTAIN 

call  him  a  fool;  neither  could  I,  in  the  face 
of  his  perfect  composure  and  undisturbed 
eyes,  exhibit  a  concern  greater  than  his 
own.  An  uneasy  recollection  of  what  he 
confessed  had  been  his  mental  condition  im- 
mediately after  his  accident  came  over  me. 
Had  he  been  the  victim  of  a  strange  hallu- 
cination regarding  his  house  and  family  all 
these  years?  "Were  these  dreams  of  re- 
venge, this  fancy  of  creating  a  new  village, 
only  an  outcome  of  some  shock  arising  out 
of  the  disaster  itself,  which  he  had  long 
since  forgotten? 

He  was  looking  from  the  window. 
"Coom,"  he  said,  "ve  are  near  der  blace. 
I  vill  show  id  to  you."  He  rose  and  passed 
out  to  the  rear  platform.  We  were  in  the 
rear  car,  and  a  new  panorama  of  the  lake 
and  mountains  flashed  upon  us  at  every 
curve  of  the  line.  I  followed  him.  Pre- 
sently he  pointed  to  what  appeared  to  be  a 
sheer  wall  of  rock  and  stunted  vegetation 
towering  two  or  three  thousand  feet  above 
us,  which  started  out  of  a  gorge  we  were 
passing.  "Dere  it  vos!"  he  said.  I  saw 
the  vast  stretch  of  rock  face  rising  upward 
and  onward,  but  nothing  else.  No  debris, 
no  ruins,  nor  even  a  swelling  or  rounding  of 


THE  MAN  AND   THE  MOUNTAIN     243 

the  mountain  flank  over  that  awful  tomb. 
Yet,  stay!  as  we  dashed  across  the  gorge, 
and  the  face  of  the  mountain  shifted,  high 
up,  the  sky-line  was  slightly  broken  as  if  a 
few  inches,  a  mere  handful,  of  the  crest  was 
crumbled  away.  And  then  —  both  gorge 
and  mountain  vanished. 

I  was  still  embarrassed  and  uneasy,  and 
knew  not  what  to  say  to  this  man  at  my 
side,  whose  hopes  and  ambition  had  been  as 
quickly  overthrown  and  buried,  and  whose 
life-dream  had  as  quickly  vanished.  But 
he  himself,  taking  his  pipe  from  his  lips, 
broke  the  silence. 

"It  vos  a  narrow  esgabe!  " 

"What  was?" 

"Vy,  dis  dings.  If  I  had  stayed  in  my 
fader's  house,  I  vould  haf  been  det  for 
goot,  and  perried  too !  Somedimes  dose  dings 
cooms  oudt  apout  right,  don't  id?  " 

Unvanquished  philosopher !  As  we  stood 
there  looking  at  the  flying  landscape  and 
sinking  lesser  hills,  one  by  one  the  great 
snow  peaks  slowly  arose  behind  them,  lift- 
ing themselves,  as  if  to  take  a  last  wonder- 
ing look  at  the  man  they  had  triumphed 
over,  but  had  not  subdued. 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ 

WHEN  Enriquez  Saltillo  ran  away  with 
Miss  Mannersley,  as  already  recorded  in 
these  chronicles,1  her  relatives  and  friends 
found  it  much  easier  to  forgive  that  ill- 
assorted  union  than  to  understand  it.  For, 
after  all,  Enriquez  was  the  scion  of  an  old 
Spanish-Californian  family,  and  in  due  time 
would  have  his  share  of  his  father's  three 
square  leagues,  whatever  incongruity  there 
was  between  his  lively  Latin  extravagance 
and  Miss  Mannersley 's  Puritan  precision 
and  intellectual  superiority.  They  had  gone 
to  Mexico;  Mrs.  Saltillo,  as  was  known, 
having  an  interest  in  Aztec  antiquities,  and 
he  being  utterly  submissive  to  her  wishes. 
For  myself  from  my  knowledge  of  Enri- 
quez's  nature,  I  had  grave  doubts  of  his 
entire  subjugation,  although  I  knew  the 
prevailing  opinion  was  that  Mrs.  Saltillo 's 
superiority  would  speedily  tame  him.  Since 

1  See  "  The  Devotion  of  Enrique-/,"  in  Barker's  Luck, 
and  Other  Stories. 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENBIQUEZ        245 

his  brief  and  characteristic  note  apprising 
me  of  his  marriage,  I  had  not  heard  from 
him.  It  was,  therefore,  with  some  surprise, 
a  good  deal  of  reminiscent  affection,  and  a 
slight  twinge  of  reproach  that,  two  years 
after,  I  looked  up  from  some  proofs,  in  the 
sanctum  of  the  "Daily  Excelsior,"  to  recog- 
nize his  handwriting  on  a  note  that  was 
handed  to  me  by  a  yellow  Mexican  boy. 

A  single  glance  at  its  contents  showed  me 
that  Mrs.  Saltillo's  correct  Bostonian  speech 
had  not  yet  subdued  Enriquez's  peculiar 
Spanish -American  slang :  — 

"  Here  we  are  again,  —  right  side  up  with 
care,  —  at  1110  Dupont  Street,  Telegraph 
Hill.  Second  floor  from  top.  '  Ring  and 
push.'  '  No  book  agents  need  apply.' 
How  's  your  royal  nibs?  I  kiss  your  hand! 
Come  at  six,  —  the  band  shall  play  at  seven, 
—  and  regard  your  friend  '  Mees  Boston/ 
who  will  tell  you  about  the  little  old  nigger 
boys,  and  your  old  Uncle  'Ennery." 

Two  things  struck  me :  Enriquez  had  not 
changed;  Mrs.  Saltillo  had  certainly  yielded 
up  some  of  her  peculiar  prejudices.  For 
the  address  given,  far  from  being  a  fashion- 
able district,  was  known  as  the  "Spanish 
quarter,"  which,  while  it  still  held  some  old 


246        THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ 

Spanish  families,  was  chiefly  given  over  to 
half-castes  and  obscurer  foreigners.  Even 
poverty  could  not  have  driven  Mrs.  Saltillo 
to  such  a  refuge  against  her  will ;  neverthe- 
less, a  good  deal  of  concern  for  Enriquez's 
fortune  mingled  with  my  curiosity,  as  I  im- 
patiently waited  for  six  o'clock  to  satisfy  it. 
It  was  a  breezy  climb  to  1110  Dupont 
Street;  and  although  the  street  had  been 
graded,  the  houses  retained  their  airy  eleva- 
tion, and  were  accessible  only  by  successive 
flights  of  wooden  steps  to  the  front  door, 
which  still  gave  perilously  upon  the  street, 
sixty  feet  below.  I  now  painfully  appre- 
ciated Enriquez's  adaptation  of  the  time- 
honored  joke  about  the  second  floor.  An 
invincible  smell  of  garlic  almost  took  my 
remaining  breath  away  as  the  door  was 
opened  to  me  by  a  swarthy  Mexican  woman, 
whose  loose  camisa  seemed  to  be  slipping 
from  her  unstable  bust,  and  was  held  on 
only  by  the  mantua-like  shawl  which  sup- 
plemented it,  gripped  by  one  brown  hand. 
Dizzy  from  my  ascent  to  that  narrow  perch, 
which  looked  upon  nothing  but  the  distant 
bay  and  shores  of  Contra  Costa,  I  felt  as 
apologetic  as  if  I  had  landed  from  a  balloon ; 
but  the  woman  gre«ted  me  with  a  languid 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ       247 

Spanish  smile  and  a  lazy  display  of  white 
teeth,  as  if  my  arrival  was  quite  natural. 
Don  Enriquez,  "of  a  fact,"  was  not  himself 
in  the  casa,  but  was  expected  "on  the  in- 
stant." "Donna  Urania"  was  at  home. 

"Donna  Urania  "?  For  an  instant  I  had 
forgotten  that  Mrs.  Saltillo's  first  name  was 
Urania,  so  pleasantly  and  spontaneously  did 
it  fall  from  the  Spanish  lips.  Nor  was  I 
displeased  at  this  chance  of  learning  some- 
thing of  Don  Enriquez 's  fortunes  and  the 
Saltillo  menage  before  confronting  my  old 
friend.  The  servant  preceded  me  to  the 
next  floor,  and,  opening  a  door,  ushered  me 
into  the  lady's  presence. 

I  had  carried  with  me,  on  that  upward 
climb,  a  lively  recollection  of  Miss  Manners- 
ley  as  I  had  known  her  two  years  before. 
I  remembered  her  upright,  almost  stiff, 
slight  figure,  the  graceful  precision  of  her 
poses,  the  faultless  symmetry  and  taste  of 
her  dress,  and  the  atmosphere  of  a  fastidious 
and  wholesome  cleanliness  which  exhaled 
from  her.  In  the  lady  I  saw  before  me, 
half  reclining  in  a  rocking-chair,  there  was 
none  of  the  stiffness  and  nicety.  Habited 
in  a  loose  gown  of  some  easy,  flexible,  but 
rich  material,  worn  with  that  peculiarly  in- 


248        THE  PASSING   OF  ENEIQUEZ 

dolent  slouch  of  the  Mexican  woman,  Mrs. 
Saltillo  had  parted  with  half  her  individual- 
ity. Even  her  arched  feet  and  thin  ankles, 
the  close-fitting  boots  or  small  slippers  of 
which  were  wont  to  accent  their  delicacy, 
were  now  lost  in  a  short,  low-quartered  kid 
shoe  of  the  Spanish  type,  in  which  they 
moved  loosely.  Her  hair,  which  she  had 
always  worn  with  a  certain  Greek  simplicity, 
was  parted  at  one  side.  Yet  her  face,  with 
its  regularity  of  feature,  and  small,  thin, 
red-lipped  mouth,  was  quite  unchanged; 
and  her  velvety  brown  eyes  were  as  beauti- 
ful and  inscrutable  as  ever. 

With  the  same  glance  I  had  taken  in  her 
surroundings,  quite  as  incongruous  to  her 
former  habits.  The  furniture,  though  of 
old  and  heavy  mahogany,  had  suffered  from 
careless  alien  hands,  and  was  interspersed 
with  modern  and  unmatchable  makeshifts, 
yet  preserving  the  distinctly  scant  and  for- 
mal attitude  of  furnished  lodgings.  It  was 
certainly  unlike  the  artistic  trifles  and  deli- 
cate refinements  of  her  uncle's  drawing- 
room,  which  we  all  knew  her  taste  had  dic- 
tated and  ruled.  The  black  and  white 
engravings,  the  outlined  heads  of  Minerva 
and  Diana,  were  excluded  from  the  walls  for 


THE  PASSING   OF  ENRIQUEZ       249 

two  cheap  colored  Catholic  prints,  —  a  soul- 
less Virgin,  and  the  mystery  of  the  Bleeding 
Heart.  Against  the  wall,  in  one  corner, 
hung  the  only  object  which  seemed  a  me- 
mento of  their  travels,  —  a  singular-looking 
upright  Indian  "papoose-case "  or  cradle, 
glaringly  decorated  with  beads  and  paint, 
probably  an  Aztec  relic.  On  a  round  table, 
the  velvet  cover  of  which  showed  marks  of 
usage  and  abusage,  there  were  scattered 
books  and  writing  materials;  and  my  edi- 
torial instinct  suddenly  recognized,  with  a 
thrill  of  apprehension,  the  loose  leaves  of  an 
undoubted  manuscript.  This  circumstance, 
taken  with  the  fact  of  Donna  Urania's  hair 
being  parted  on  one  side,  and  the  general 
negligee  of  her  appearance,  was  a  disturbing 
revelation. 

My  wandering  eye  apparently  struck  her, 
for  after  the  first  greeting  she  pointed  to 
the  manuscript  with  a  smile. 

"Yes;  that  is  the  manuscript.  I  suppose 
Enriquez  told  you  all  about  it  ?  He  said  he 
had  written." 

I  was  dumfounded.  I  certainly  had  not 
understood  all  of  Enriquez 's  slang;  it  was 
always  so  decidedly  his  own,  and  peculiar. 
Yet  I  could  not  recall  any  allusion  to  this. 


250       THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ 

"He  told  me  something  of  it,  but  very 
vaguely,"  I  ventured  to  say  deprecatingly ; 
"but  I  am  afraid  that  I  thought  more  of 
seeing  my  old  friend  again  than  of  anything 
else." 

"During  our  stay  in  Mexico,"  continued 
Mrs.  Saltillo,  with  something  of  her  old 
precision,  "I  made  some  researches  into 
Aztec  history,  a  subject  always  deeply  inter- 
esting to  me,  and  I  thought  I  would  utilize 
the  result  by  throwing  it  on  paper.  Of 
course  it  is  better  fitted  for  a  volume  of  ref- 
erence than  for  a  newspaper,  but  Enriquez 
thought  you  might  want  to  use  it  for  your 
journal." 

I  knew  that  Enriquez  had  no  taste  for 
literature,  and  had  even  rather  depreciated 
it  in  the  old  days,  with  his  usual  extrava- 
gance ;  but  I  managed  to  say  very  pleasantly 
that  I  was  delighted  with  his  suggestion 
and  should  be  glad  to  read  the  manuscript. 
After  all,  it  was  not  improbable  that  Mrs. 
Saltillo,  who  was  educated  and  intelligent, 
should  write  well,  if  not  popularly.  "Then 
Enriquez  does  not  begrudge  you  the  time 
that  your  work  takes  from  him,"  I  added 
laughingly.  "You  seem  to  have  occupied 
your  honeymoon  practically." 


THE  PASSING   OF  ENBIQUEZ       251 

"  We  quite  comprehend  our  respective  du- 
ties," said  Mrs.  Saltillo  dryly;  "and  have 
from  the  first.  We  have  our  own  lives  to 
live,  independent  of  my  uncle  and  Enri- 
quez's  father.  We  have  not  only  accepted 
the  responsibility  of  our  own  actions,  but 
we  both  feel  the  higher  privilege  of  creating 
our  own  conditions  without  extraneous  aid 
from  our  relatives." 

It  struck  me  that  this  somewhat  exalted 
statement  was  decidedly  a  pose,  or  a  return 
of  Urania  Manner sley's  old  ironical  style. 
I  looked  quietly  into  her  brown,  near-sighted 
eyes ;  but,  as  once  before,  my  glance  seemed 
to  slip  from  their  moist  surface  without 
penetrating  the  inner  thought  beneath. 
"And  what  does  Enriquez  do  for  his  part?  " 
I  asked  smilingly. 

I  fully  expected  to  hear  that  the  energetic 
Enriquez  was  utilizing  his  peculiar  tastes 
and  experiences  by  horse-breaking,  stock- 
raising,  professional  bull-fighting,  or  even 
horse-racing,  but  was  quite  astonished  when 
she  answered  quietly :  — 

"  Enriquez  is  giving  himself  up  to  geology 
and  practical  metallurgy,  with  a  view  to 
scientific,  purely  scientific,  mining." 

Enriquez  and  geology!     In  that  instant 


252       THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ 

all  I  could  remember  of  it  were  his  gibes  at 
the  "geologian,"  as  he  was  wont  to  term 
Professor  Dobbs,  a  former  admirer  of  Miss 
Mannersley's.  To  add  to  my  confusion 
Mrs.  Saltillo  at  the  same  moment  absolutely 
voiced  my  thought. 

"You  may  remember  Professor  Dobbs," 
she  went  on  calmly,  "one  of  the  most  emi- 
nent scientists  over  here,  and  a  very  old 
Boston  friend.  He  has  taken  Enriquez  in 
hand.  His  progress  is  most  satisfactory; 
we  have  the  greatest  hopes  of  him." 

"  And  how  soon  do  you  both  hope  to  have 
some  practical  results  of  his  study  ?  "  I  could 
not  help  asking  a  little  mischievously;  for 
I  somehow  resented  the  plural  pronoun  in 
her  last  sentence. 

"Very  soon,"  said  Mrs.  Saltillo,  ignoring 
everything  but  the  question.  "You  know 
Enriquez's  sanguine  temperament.  Perhaps 
he  is  already  given  to  evolving  theories  with- 
out a  sufficient  basis  of  fact.  Still,  he  has 
the  daring  of  a  discoverer.  His  ideas  of 
the  oolitic  formation  are  not  without  origi- 
nality, and  Professor  Dobbs  says  that  in  his 
conception  of  the  Silurian  beach  there  are 
gleams  that  are  distinctly  precious." 

I  looked  at  Mrs.  Saltillo,  who  had  rein- 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ       253 

forced  her  eyes  with  her  old  piquant  pince- 
nez,  but  could  detect  no  irony  in  them.  She 
was  prettily  imperturbable,  that  was  all. 
There  was  an  awkward  silence.  Then  it 
was  broken  by  a  bounding  step  on  the  stairs, 
a  wide-open  fling  of  the  door,  and  Enriquez 
pirouetted  into  the  room:  Enriquez,  as  of 
old,  unchanged  from  the  crown  of  his  smooth, 
coal-black  hair  to  the  tips  of  his  small,  nar- 
row Arabian  feet ;  Enriquez,  with  his  thin, 
curling  mustache,  his  dancing  eyes  set  in  his 
immovable  face,  just  as  I  had  always  known 
him! 

He  affected  to  lapse  against  the  door  for 
a  minute,  as  if  staggered  by  a  resplendent 
vision.  Then  he  said :  — 

"What  do  I  regard?  Is  it  a  dream,  or 
have  I  again  got  them  —  thees  jimjams? 
My  best  friend  and  my  best  —  I  mean  my 
only  —  wife !  Embrace  me !  " 

He  gave  me  an  enthusiastic  embrace  and 
a  wink  like  sheet-lightning,  passed  quickly 
to  his  wife,  before  whom  he  dropped  on  one 
knee,  raised  the  toe  of  her  slipper  to  his 
lips,  and  then  sank  on  the  sofa  in  simulated 
collapse,  murmuring,  "Thees  is  too  mooch 
of  white  stone  for  one  day!  " 

Through  all  this  I  saw  his  wife  regarding 


254       THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ 

him  with  exactly  the  same  critically  amused 
expression  with  which  she  had  looked  upon 
him  in  the  days  of  their  strange  courtship. 
She  evidently  had  not  tired  of  his  extrava- 
gance, and  yet  I  feel  as  puzzled  by  her 
manner  as  then.  She  rose  and  said:  "I 
suppose  you  have  a  good  deal  to  say  to  each 
other,  and  I  will  leave  you  by  yourselves." 
Turning  to  her  husband,  she  added,  "  I  have 
already  spoken  about  the  Aztec  manuscript." 

The  word  brought  Enriquez  to  his  feet 
again.  "Ah!  The  little  old  nigger  —  you 
have  read?"  I  began  to  understand.  "My 
wife,  my  best  friend,  and  the  little  old  nig- 
ger, all  in  one  day.  Eet  is  perfect!  "  Nev- 
ertheless, in  spite  of  this  ecstatic  and  over- 
powering combination,  he  hurried  to  take 
his  wife's  hand;  kissing  it,  he  led  her  to  a 
door  opening  into  another  room,  made  her 
a  low  bow  to  the  ground  as  she  passed  out, 
and  then  rejoined  me. 

"So  these  are  the  little  old  niggers  you 
spoke  of  in  your  note,"  I  said,  pointing  to 
the  manuscript.  "Deuce  take  me  if  I  un- 
derstood you ! " 

"Ah,  my  leetle  brother,  it  is  you  who 
have  changed!"  said  Enriquez  dolorously. 
uls  it  that  you  no  more  understand  Ameri- 


THE  PASSING  OF  SNEIQUEZ       255 

can,  or  have  the  '  big  head '  of  the  editor? 
Kegard  me !  Of  these  Aztecs  my  wife  have 
made  study.  She  have  pursued  the  little 
nigger  to  his  cave,  his  grotto,  where  he  is 
dead  a  thousand  year.  I  have  myself  assist, 
though  I  like  it  not,  because  thees  mummy, 
look  you,  Pancho,  is  not  lively.  And  the 
mummy  who  is  not  dead,  believe  me !  even 
the  young  lady  mummy,  you  shall  not  take 
to  your  heart.  But  my  wife  "  —  he  stopped, 
and  kissed  his  hand  toward  the  door  whence 
she  had  flitted — "ah,  she  is  wonderful! 
She  has  made  the  story  of  them,  the  peecture 
of  them,  from  the  life  and  on  the  instant! 
You  shall  take  them,  my  leetle  brother,  for 
your  journal;  you  shall  announce  in  the  big 
letter :  '  Mooch  Importance.  The  Aztec, 
He  is  Found.'  c  How  He  Look  and  Lif.' 
'  The  Everlasting  Nigger. '  You  shall  sell 
many  paper,  and  Urania  shall  have  scoop  in 
much  spondulics  and  rocks.  Hoop-la !  For 
—  you  comprehend  ?  —  my  wife  and  I  have 
settled  that  she  shall  forgif  her  oncle;  I 
shall  forgif  my  father;  but  from  them  we 
take  no  cent,  not  a  red,  not  a  scad!  We 
are  independent!  Of  ourselves  we  make  a 
Fourth  of  July.  United  we  stand;  divided 
we  shall  fall  over !  There  you  are !  Buenv  *  " 


256        THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ 

It  was  impossible  to  resist  his  wild,  yet 
perfectly  sincere,  extravagance,  his  dancing 
black  eyes  and  occasional  flash  of  white  teeth 
in  his  otherwise  immovable  and  serious 
countenance.  Nevertheless,  I  managed  to 
say :  — 

"But  how  about  yourself,  Enriquez,  and 
this  geology,  you  know?" 

His  eyes  twinkled.  "  Ah,  you  shall  hear. 
But  first  you  shall  take  a  drink.  I  have 
the  very  old  Bourbon.  He  is  not  so  old  as 
the  Aztec,  but,  believe  me,  he  is  very  much 
liflier.  Attend!  Hoi'  on!"  He  was  al- 
ready rummaging  on  a  shelf,  but  apparently 
without  success;  then  he  explored  a  buffet, 
with  no  better  results,  and  finally  attacked 
a  large  drawer,  throwing  out  on  the  floor, 
with  his  old  impetuosity,  a  number  of  geo- 
logical specimens,  carefully  labeled.  I  picked 
up  one  that  had  rolled  near  me.  It  was  la- 
beled "Conglomerate  sandstone."  I  picked 
up  another :  it  had  the  same  label. 

"Then  you  are  really  collecting?  "  I  said, 
with  astonishment. 

"  Ciertamente,"  responded  Enriquez,  — 
"what  other  fool  shall  I  look?  I  shall  re- 
late of  this  geology  when  I  shall  have  found 
this  beast  of  a  bottle.  Ah,  here  he  have 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ       257 

hide ! "  He  extracted  from  a  drawer  a  bot- 
tle nearly  full  of  spirits,  —  tippling  was  not 
one  of  Enriquez's  vices.  "You  shall  say 
'  when. '  'Ere  's  to  our  noble  selfs !  " 

When  he  had  drunk,  I  picked  up  another 
fragment  of  his  collection.  It  had  the  same 
label.  "You  are  very  rich  in  '  conglomer- 
ate sandstone,'"  I  said.  "Where  do  you 
find  it?" 

"In  the  street,"  said  Enriquez,  with  great 
calmness. 

"In  the  street?"  I  echoed. 

"  Yes,  my  friend !  He  ees  call  the  '  cob- 
blestone, '  also  the  '  pouding-stone, '  when  he 
ees  at  his  home  in  the  country.  He  ees  also 
a  small '  boulder. '  I  pick  him  up ;  I  crack 
him;  he  made  three  separate  piece  of  con- 
glomerate sandstone.  I  bring  him  home 
to  my  wife  in  my  pocket.  She  rejoice;  we 
are  happy.  When  comes  the  efening,  I  sit 
down  and  make  him  a  label ;  while  my  wife, 
she  sit  down  and  write  of  the  Aztec.  Ah, 
my  friend,  you  shall  say  of  the  geology  it 
ees  a  fine,  a  beautiful  study ;  but  the  study 
of  the  wife,  and  what  shall  please  her,  be- 
lieve me,  ees  much  finer!  Believe  your  old 
Uncle  'Ennery  every  time!  On  thees  ques- 
tion he  gets  there;  he  gets  left,  nevarrel " 


258       THE  PASSING  OF  ENBIQUEZ 

"But  Professor  Dobbs,  your  geologian, 
what  does  he  say  to  this  frequent  recurrence 
of  the  conglomerate  sandstone  period  in  your 
study?''  I  asked  quickly. 

"He  say  nothing.  You  comprehend? 
He  ees  a  profound  geologian,  but  he  also 
has  the  admiration  excessif  for  my  wife 
Urania."  He  stopped  to  kiss  his  hand 
again  toward  the  door,  and  lighted  a  ciga- 
rette. "The  geologian  would  not  that  he 
should  break  up  the  happy  efening  of  his 
friends  by  thees  small  detail.  He  put  aside 
his  head  —  so ;  he  say,  '  A  leetle  freestone, 
a  leetle  granite,  now  and  then,  for  variety ; 
they  are  building  in  Montgomery  Street.' 
I  take  the  hint,  like  a  wink  to  the  horse 
that  has  gone  blind.  I  attach  to  myself 
part  of  the  edifice  that  is  erecting  himself  in 
Montgomery  Street.  I  crack  him;  I  bring 
him  home.  I  sit  again  at  the  feet  of  my 
beautiful  Urania,  and  I  label  him  '  Free- 
stone, '  '  Granite ; '  but  I  do  not  say  '  from 
Parrott's  Bank'  —  eet  is  not  necessary  for 
our  happiness." 

"And  you  do  this  sort  of  thing  only  be- 
cause you  think  it  pleases  your  wife?"  I 
asked  bluntly. 

"My  friend,"  rejoined  Enriquez,  perching 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ       259 

himself  on  the  back  of  the  sofa,  and  caress- 
ing his  knees  as  he  puffed  his  cigarette 
meditatively,  "you  have  ask  a  conundrum. 
Gif  to  me  an  easier  one !  It  is  of  truth  that 
I  make  much  of  these  thing  to  please  Urania. 
But  I  shall  confess  all.  Behold,  I  appear  to 
you,  my  leetle  brother,  in  my  camisa  —  my 
shirt !  I  blow  on  myself;  I  gif  myself  away." 
He  rose  gravely  from  the  sofa,  and  drew 
a  small  box  from  one  of  the  drawers  of  the 
wardrobe.  Opening  it,  he  discovered  sev- 
eral specimens  of  gold-bearing  quartz,  and 
one  or  two  scales  of  gold.  "  Thees,"  he 
said,  "friend  Pancho,  is  my  own  geology; 
for  thees  I  am  what  you  see.  But  I  say 
nothing  to  Urania ;  for  she  have  much  dis- 
gust of  mere  gold,  —  of  what  she  calls  '  vul- 
gar mining,' — and  believe  me,  a  fear  of  the 
effect  of  '  speculation '  upon  my  temper a- 
mento  —  you  comprehend  my  complexion,  my 
brother?  Reflect  upon  it,  Pancho!  T,  who 
am  thejilosofo,  if  that  I  am  anything !  "  He 
looked  at  me  with  great  levity  of  eye  and 
supernatural  gravity  of  demeanor.  "But 
eet  ees  the  jealous  affection  of  the  wife,  my 
friend,  for  which  I  make  play  to  her  with 
the  humble  leetle  pouding-stone  rather  than 
the  gold  quartz  that  affrights." 


260        THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ 

"But  what  do  you  want  with  them,  if  you 
have  no  shares  in  anything  and  do  not  spec- 
ulate?" I  asked. 

"Pardon!  That  ees  where  you  slip  up, 
my  leetle  friend."  He  took  from  the  same 
drawer  a  clasped  portfolio,  and  unlocked  it, 
producing  half  a  dozen  prospectuses  and 
certificates  of  mining  shares.  I  stood  aghast 
as  I  recognized  the  names  of  one  or  two  ex- 
travagant failures  of  the  last  ten  years,  — 
"played-out"  mines  that  had  been  galvan- 
ized into  deceptive  life  in  London,  Paris, 
and  New  York,  to  the  grief  of  shareholders 
abroad  and  the  laughter  of  the  initiated  at 
home.  I  could  scarcely  keep  my  equanim- 
ity. "You  do  not  mean  to  say  that  you 
have  any  belief  or  interest  in  this  rubbish?  " 
I  said  quickly. 

"What  you  call  '  rubbish,'  my  good 
Pancho,  ees  the  rubbish  that  the  American 
speculator  have  dump  himself  upon  them  in 
the  shaft,  the  rubbish  of  the  advertisement, 
of  the  extravagant  expense,  of  the  salary,  of 
the  assessment,  of  the  *  freeze-out.'  For 
thees,  look  you,  is  the  old  Mexican  mine. 
My  grandfather  and  hees  father  have  both 
seen  them  work  before  you  were  born,  and 
the  American  knew  not  there  was  gold  in 
California." 


THE  PASSING   OF  ENBIQUEZ       261 

I  knew  he  spoke  truly.  One  or  two  were 
original  silver  mines  in  the  south,  worked 
by  peons  and  Indian  slaves,  a  rope  windlass, 
and  a  venerable  donkey. 

"But  those  were  silver  mines,"  I  said  sus- 
piciously, uand  these  are  gold  specimens." 

"They  are  from  the  same  mother,"  said 
the  imperturbable  Enriquez,  —  "  the  same 
mine.  The  old  peons  worked  him  for  silver, 
the  precious  dollar  that  buy  everything,  that 
he  send  in  the  galleon  to  the  Philippines  for 
the  silk  and  spice!  That  is  good  enough 
for  him!  For  the  gold  he  made  nothing, 
even  as  my  leetle  wife  Urania.  And  re- 
gard me  here !  There  ees  a  proverb  of  my 
father's  which  say  that  '  it  shall  take  a  gold 
mine  to  work  a  silver  mine, '  so  mooch  more 
he  cost.  You  work  him,  you  are  lost !  JYa- 
turalmente,  if  you  turn  him  round,  if  it  take 
you  only  a  silver  mine  to  work  a  gold  mine, 
you  are  gain.  Thees  ees  logic!  " 

Tne  intense  gravity  of  his  face  at  this  ex- 
traordinary deduction  upset  my  own.  But 
as  I  was  never  certain  that  Enriquez  was  not 
purposely  mystifying  me,  with  some  ulterior 
object,  I  could  not  help  saying  a  little  wick- 
edly :  — 

"Yes,   I   understand   all  that;   but  ho\f 


262       THE  PASSING  OF  ENBIQUEZ 

about  this  geologian  ?  Will  lie  not  tell  your 
wife?  You  know  he  was  a  great  admirer 
of  hers." 

"  That  shall  show  the  great  intelligence  of 
him,  my  Pancho.  He  will  have  the  four 
*  S's,'  especially  the  secretof  " 

There  could  be  no  serious  discussion  in 
his  present  mood.  I  gathered  up  the  pages 
of  his  wife's  manuscript,  said  lightly  that, 
as  she  had  the  first  claim  upon  my  time,  I 
should  examine  the  Aztec  material  and  re- 
port in  a  day  or  two.  As  I  knew  I  had 
little  chance  in  the  hands  of  these  two  in- 
comprehensibles  together,  I  begged  him  not 
to  call  his  wife,  but  to  convey  my  adieus  to 
her,  and,  in  spite  of  his  embraces  and  pro- 
testations, I  managed  to  get  out  of  the  room. 
But  I  had  scarcely  reached  the  front  door 
when  I  heard  Enriquez's  voice  and  his  bound- 
ing step  on  the  stairs.  In  another  moment 
his  arm  was  round  my  neck. 

"You  must  return  on  the  instant!  Mo- 
ther of  God !  I  haf  forget,  she  haf  forget, 
we  all  haf  forget !  But  you  have  not  seen 
him!" 

"Seen  whom?" 

"El  nino,  the  baby!  You  comprehend, 
pig !  The  criaturica,  the  leetle  child  of  our- 
Belfsl" 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ       263 

"The  baby?"  I  said  confusedly.  "7s 
there  —  is  there  a  ~bdby  ?  " 

"You  hear  him?  "  said  Enriquez,  sending 
an  appealing  voice  upward.  "  You  hear  him, 
Urania?  You  comprehend.  This  beast  of 
a  leetle  brother  demands  if  there  ees  one!  " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  said,  hurriedly 
reascending  the  stairs.  On  the  landing  I 
met  Mrs.  Saltillo,  but  as  calm,  composed, 
and  precise  as  her  husband  was  extravagant 
and  vehement.  "It  was  an  oversight  of 
Enriquez *s,"  she  said  quietly,  reentering  the 
room  with  us;  "and  was  all  the  more  strange, 
as  the  child  was  in  the  room  with  you  all  the 
time." 

She  pointed  to  the  corner  of  the  wall, 
where  hung  what  I  had  believed  to  be  an 
old  Indian  relic.  To  my  consternation,  it 
was  a  bark  "papoose-case,"  occupied  by  a 
living  child,  swathed  and  bandaged  after 
the  approved  Indian  fashion.  It  was  asleep, 
I  believe,  but  it  opened  a  pair  of  bright 
huckleberry  eyes,  set  in  the  smallest  of  fea- 
tures, that  were  like  those  of  a  carved  ivory 
idol,  and  uttered  a  "coo"  at  the  sound  of 
its  mother's  voice.  She  stood  on  one  side 
with  unruffled  composure,  while  Enriquez 
threw  himself  into  an  attitude  before  it,  with 


264       THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ 

clasped  hands,  as  if  it  had  been  an  image 
of  the  Holy  Child.  For  myself,  I  was  too 
astounded  to  speak;  luckily,  my  confu- 
sion was  attributed  to  the  inexperience  of  a 
bachelor. 

"I  have  adopted,"  said  Mrs.  Saltillo, 
with  the  faintest  touch  of  maternal  pride  in 
her  manner,  "what  I  am  convinced  is  the 
only  natural  and  hygienic  mode  of  treating 
the  human  child.  It  may  be  said  to  be  a 
reversion  to  the  aborigine,  but  I  have  yet  to 
learn  that  it  is  not  superior  to  our  civilized 
custom.  By  these  bandages  the  limbs  of 
the  infant  are  kept  in  proper  position  until 
they  are  strong  enough  to  support  the  body, 
and  such  a  thing  as  malformation  is  un- 
known. It  is  protected  by  its  cradle,  which 
takes  the  place  of  its  incubating-shell,  from 
external  injury,  the  injudicious  coddling  of 
nurses,  the  so-called  '  dancings  '  and  perni- 
cious rockings.  The  supine  position,  as  in 
the  adult,  is  imposed  only  at  night.  By  the 
aid  of  this  strap  it  may  be  carried  on  long 
journeys,  either  by  myself  or  by  Enriquez, 
who  thus  shares  with  me,  as  he  fully  recog- 
nizes, its  equal  responsibility  and  burden." 

"It  —  certainly  does  not  —  cry,"  I  stam- 
mered. 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENKIQUEZ       265 

"Crying,"  said  Mrs.  Saltillo,  with  a 
curve  of  her  pretty  red  lip,  "is  the  protest 
of  the  child  against  insanitary  and  artificial 
treatment.  In  its  upright,  unostentatious 
cradle  it  is  protected  against  that  injudicious 
fondling  and  dangerous  promiscuous  oscula- 
tion to  which,  as  an  infant  in  human  arms, 
it  is  so  often  subjected.  Above  all,  it  is 
kept  from  that  shameless  and  mortifying 
publicity  so  unjust  to  the  weak  and  unformed 
animal.  The  child  repays  this  consideration 
by  a  gratifying  silence.  It  cannot  be  ex- 
pected to  understand  our  thoughts,  speech, 
or  actions ;  it  cannot  participate  in  our  plea- 
sures. Why  should  it  be  forced  into  pre- 
mature contact  with  them,  merely  to  feed 
our  vanity  or  selfishness?  Why  should  we 
assume  our  particular  parental  accident  as 
superior  to  the  common  lot  ?  If  we  do  not 
give  our  offspring  that  prominence  before 
our  visitors  so  common  to  the  young  wife 
and  husband,  it  is  for  that  reason  solely; 
and  this  may  account  for  what  seemed  the 
forgetfulness  of  Enriquez  in  speaking  of  it 
or  pointing  it  out  to  you.  And  I  think  his 
action  in  calling  you  back  to  see  it  was 
somewhat  precipitate.  As  one  does  not 
usually  introduce  an  unknown  and  inferior 


266        THE  PASSING  OF  ENBIQUEZ 

stranger  without  some  previous  introduction, 
he  might  have  asked  you  if  you  wished  to 
see  the  baby  before  he  recalled  you." 

I  looked  from  Urania's  unfathomable  eyes 
to  Enriquez's  impenetrable  countenance.  I 
might  have  been  equal  to  either  of  them 
alone,  but  together  they  were  invincible.  I 
looked  hopelessly  at  the  baby.  With  its 
sharp  little  eyes  and  composed  face,  it  cer- 
tainly was  a  marvelous  miniature  of  Enri- 
quez.  I  said  so. 

"It  would  be  singular  if  it  was  not,"  said 
Mrs.  Saltillo  dryly;  "and  as  I  believe  it  is 
by  no  means  an  uncommon  fact  in  human 
nature,  it  seems  to  me  strange  that  people 
should  insist  upon  it  as  a  discovery.  It  is 
an  inheritance,  however,  that  in  due  time 
progress  and  science  will  no  doubt  interrupt, 
to  the  advancement  of  the  human  race.  I 
need  not  say  that  both  Enriquez  and  myself 
look  forward  to  it  with  confident  tranquil- 
lity." 

There  was  clearly  nothing  for  me  to  do 
now  but  to  shake  hands  again  and  take  my 
leave.  Yet  I  was  so  much  impressed  with 
the  unreality  of  the  whole  scene  that  when 
I  reached  the  front  door  I  had  a  strong  im- 
pulse to  return  suddenly  and  fall  in  upon 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ       267 

them  in  their  relaxed  and  natural  attitudes. 
They  could  not  keep  up  this  pose  between 
themselves ;  and  I  half  expected  to  see  their 
laughing  faces  at  the  window,  as  I  glanced 
up  before  wending  my  perilous  way  to  the 
street. 

I  found  Mrs.  Saltillo's  manuscript  well 
written  and,  in  the  narrative  parts,  even 
graphic  and  sparkling.  I  suppressed  some 
general  remarks  on  the  universe,  and  some 
correlative  theories  of  existence,  as  not  ap- 
pertaining particularly  to  the  Aztecs,  and  as 
not  meeting  any  unquenchable  thirst  for  in- 
formation on  the  part  of  the  readers  of  the 
"Daily  Excelsior."  I  even  promoted  my 
fair  contributor  to  the  position  of  having 
been  commissioned,  at  great  expense,  to 
make  the  Mexican  journey  especially  for  the 
"Excelsior."  This,  with  Mrs.  Saltillo's 
somewhat  precise  preraphaelite  drawings  and 
water-colors,  vilely  reproduced  by  woodcuts, 
gave  quite  a  sensational  air  to  her  produc- 
tion, which,  divided  into  parts,  for  two  or 
three  days  filled  a  whole  page  of  the  paper. 
I  am  not  aware  of  any  particular  service  that 
it  did  to  ethnology;  but,  as  I  pointed  out 
in  the  editorial  column,  it  showed  that  the 
people  of  California  were  not  given  over  by 


268       THE  PASSING   OF  ENRIQUEZ 

material  greed  to  the  exclusion  of  intellec- 
tual research;  and  as  it  was  attacked  in- 
stantly in  long  communications  from  one  or 
two  scientific  men,  it  thus  produced  more 
copy. 

Briefly,  it  was  a  boom  for  the  author  and 
the  "Daily  Excelsior."  I  should  add,  how- 
ever, that  a  rival  newspaper  intimated  that 
it  was  also  a  boom  for  Mrs.  Saltillo's  hus- 
band, and  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  a 
deserted  Mexican  mine,  known  as  "El  Bo- 
lero," was  described  graphically  in  the  Aztec 
article  among  the  news,  and  again  appeared 
in  the  advertising  columns  of  the  same  paper. 
I  turned  somewhat  indignantly  to  the  file 
of  the  "Excelsior,"  and,  singularly  enough, 
found  in  the  elaborate  prospectus  of  a  new 
gold-mining  company  the  description  of  the 
El  Bolero  mine  as  a  quotation  from  the  Az- 
tec article,  with  extraordinary  inducements 
for  the  investment  of  capital  in  the  projected 
working  of  an  old  mine.  If  I  had  had  any 
difficulty  in  recognizing  in  the  extravagant 
style  the  flamboyant  hand  of  Enriquez  in 
English  writing,  I  might  have  read  his  name 
plainly  enough  displayed  as  president  of  the 
company.  It  was  evidently  the  prospectus 
of  one  of  the  ventures  he  had  shown  me.  I 


THE  PASSING   OF  ENEIQUEZ        269 

was  more  amused  than  indignant  at  the 
little  trick  he  had  played  upon  my  editorial 
astuteness.  After  all,  if  I  had  thus  bene- 
fited the  young  couple  I  was  satisfied.  I 
had  not  seen  them  since  my  first  visit,  as  I 
was  very  busy,  —  my  communications  with 
Mrs.  Saltillo  had  been  carried  on  by  letters 
and  proofs,  —  and  when  I  did  finally  call  at 
their  house,  it  was  only  to  find  that  they 
were  visiting  at  San  Jose.  I  wondered 
whether  the  baby  was  still  hanging  on  the 
wall,  or,  if  he  was  taken  with  them,  who 
carried  him. 

A  week  later  the  stock  of  El  Bolero  was 
quoted  at  par.  More  than  that,  an  incom- 
prehensible activity  had  been  given  to  all 
the  deserted  Mexican  mines,  and  people  be- 
gan to  look  up  scrip  hitherto  thrown  aside 
as  worthless.  Whether  it  was  one  of  those 
extraordinary  fevers  which  attacked  Calif  or- 
nian  speculation  in  the  early  days,  or  whether 
Enriquez  Saltillo  had  infected  the  stock- 
market  with  his  own  extravagance,  I  never 
knew ;  but  plans  as  wild,  inventions  as  fan- 
tastic, and  arguments  as  illogical  as  ever 
emanated  from  his  own  brain,  were  set  forth 
"on  'Change"  with  a  gravity  equal  to  his 
own.  The  most  reasonable  hypothesis  was 


270        THE  PASSING  OF  ENBIQUEZ 

that  it  was  the  effect  of  the  well-known  fact 
that  the  Spanish  Californian  hitherto  had 
not  been  a  mining  speculator,  nor  connected 
in  any  way  with  the  gold  production  on  his 
native  soil,  deeming  it  inconsistent  with  his 
patriarchal  life  and  landed  dignity,  and  that 
when  a  "son  of  one  of  the  oldest  Spanish 
families,  identified  with  the  land  and  its  pe- 
culiar character  for  centuries,  lent  himself 
to  its  mineral  exploitations,"  —  I  beg  to  say 
that  I  am  quoting  from  the  advertisement 
in  the  "Excelsior," —  "it  was  a  guerdon  of 
success."  This  was  so  far  true  that  in  a 
week  Enriquez  Saltillo  was  rich,  and  in  a 
fair  way  to  become  a  millionaire. 

It  was  a  hot  afternoon  when  I  alighted 
from  the  stifling  Wingdam  coach,  and  stood 
upon  the  cool,  deep  veranda  of  the  Carqui- 
nez  Springs  Hotel.  After  I  had  shaken 
off  the  dust  which  had  lazily  followed  us,  in 
our  descent  of  the  mountain  road,  like  a  red 
smoke,  occasionally  overflowing  the  coach 
windows,  I  went  up  to  the  room  I  had  en- 
gaged for  my  brief  holiday.  I  knew  the 
place  well,  although  I  could  see  that  the 
hotel  itself  had  lately  been  redecorated  and 
enlarged  to  meet  the  increasing  requirements 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ       271 

of  fashion.  I  knew  the  forest  of  enormous 
redwoods  where  one  might  lose  one's  self  in 
a  five  minutes'  walk  from  the  veranda.  I 
knew  the  rocky  trail  that  climbed  the  moun- 
tain to  the  springs,  twisting  between  giant 
boulders.  I  knew  the  arid  garden,  deep  in 
the  wayside  dust,  with  its  hurriedly  planted 
tropical  plants,  already  withering  in  the  dry 
autumn  sunshine,  and  washed  into  fictitious 
freshness,  night  and  morning  by  the  hy- 
draulic irrigating-hose.  I  knew,  too,  the 
cool,  reposeful  night  winds  that  swept  down 
from  invisible  snow-crests  beyond,  with  the 
hanging  out  of  monstrous  stars,  that  too 
often  failed  to  bring  repose  to  the  feverish 
guests.  For  the  overstrained  neurotic  work- 
ers who  fled  hither  from  the  baking  plains 
of  Sacramento,  or  from  the  chill  sea-fogs  of 
San  Francisco,  never  lost  the  fierce  unrest 
that  had  driven  them  here.  Unaccustomed 
to  leisure,  their  enforced  idleness  impelled 
them  to  seek  excitement  in  the  wildest  gaye- 
ties ;  the  bracing  mountain  air  only  reinvig- 
orated  them  to  pursue  pleasure  as  they  had 
pursued  the  occupations  they  had  left  be- 
hind. Their  sole  recreations  were  furious 
drives  over  break-neck  roads;  mad,  scam- 
pering cavalcades  through  the  sedate  woods ; 


272        THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ 

gambling  parties  in  private  rooms,  where 
large  sums  were  lost  by  capitalists  on  leave; 
champagne  suppers;  and  impromptu  balls 
that  lasted  through  the  calm,  reposeful  night 
to  the  first  rays  of  light  on  the  distant  snow- 
line.  Unimaginative  men,  in  their  tempo- 
rary sojourn  they  more  often  outraged  or 
dispossessed  nature  in  her  own  fastnesses 
than  courted  her  for  sympathy  or  solitude. 
There  were  playing-cards  left  lying  behind 
boulders,  and  empty  champagne  bottles  for- 
gotten in  forest  depths. 

I  remembered  all  this  when,  refreshed 
by  a  bath,  I  leaned  from  the  balcony  of  my 
room  and  watched  the  pulling  up  of  a  brake, 
drawn  by  six  dusty,  foam-bespattered  horses, 
driven  by  a  noted  capitalist.  As  its  hot, 
perspiring,  closely  veiled  yet  burning-faced 
fair  occupants  descended,  in  all  the  daz- 
zling glory  of  summer  toilets,  and  I  saw  the 
gentlemen  consult  their  watches  with  satis- 
faction, and  congratulate  their  triumphant 
driver,  I  knew  the  characteristic  excitement 
they  had  enjoyed  from  a  "record  run," 
probably  for  a  bet,  over  a  mountain  road  in 
a  burning  sun. 

"Not  bad,  eh?  Forty -four  minutes  from 
the  summit! " 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ       273 

The  voice  seemed  at  my  elbow.  I  turned 
quickly,  to  recognize  an  acquaintance,  a 
young  San  Francisco  broker,  leaning  from 
the  next  balcony  to  mine.  But  my  atten- 
tion was  just  then  preoccupied  by  the  face 
and  figure,  which  seemed  familiar  to  me,  of 
a  woman  who  was  alighting  from  the  brake. 

"Who  is  that?"  I  asked;  "the  straight 
slim  woman  in  gray,  with  the  white  veil 
twisted  round  her  felt  hat? " 

"Mrs.  Saltillo,"  he  answered;  "wife  of 
'  El  Bolero '  Saltillo,  don't  you  know. 
Mighty  pretty  woman,  if  she  is  a  little  stiff  - 
ish  and  set  up." 

Then  I  had  not  been  mistaken!  "Is  En- 
riquez  —  is  her  husband  —  here  ?  "  I  asked 
quickly. 

The  man  laughed.  "I  reckon  not.  This 
is  the  place  for  other  people's  husbands, 
don't  you  know." 

Alas!  I  did  know;  and  as  there  flashed 
upon  me  all  the  miserable  scandals  and  gos- 
sip connected  with  this  reckless,  frivolous 
caravansary,  I  felt  like  resenting  his  sug- 
gestion. But  my  companion's  next  words 
were  more  significant:  — 

"Besides,  if  what  they  say  is  true,  Saltillo 
wouldn't  be  very  popular  here." 


274        THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ 

"I  don't  understand,"  I  said  quickly. 

"Why,  after  all  that  row  he  had  with  the 
El  Bolero  Company." 

"I  never  heard  of  any  row,"  I  said,  in 
astonishment. 

The  broker  laughed  incredulously. 
"  Come !  and  you  a  newspaper  man !  Well, 
maybe  they  did  try  to  hush  it  up,  and  keep 
it  out  of  the  papers,  on  account  of  the  stock. 
But  it  seems  he  got  up  a  reg'lar  shindy  with 
the  board,  one  day;  called  'em  thieves  and 
swindlers,  and  allowed  he  was  disgracing 
himself  as  a  Spanish  hidalgo  by  having  any- 
thing to  do  with  'em.  Talked,  they  say, 
about  Charles  V.  of  Spain,  or  some  other 
royal  galoot,  giving  his  ancestors  the  land 
in  trust!  Clean  off  his  head,  I  reckon. 
Then  shunted  himself  off  the  company,  and 
sold  out.  You  can  guess  he  wouldn't  be 
very  popular  around  here,  with  Jim  Bestley, 
there,"  pointing  to  the  capitalist  who  had 
driven  the  brake,  "who  used  to  be  on  the 
board  with  him.  No,  sir.  He  was  either 
lying  low  for  something,  or  was  off  his  head. 
Think  of  his  throwing  up  a  place  like  that !  " 

"Nonsense!"  I  said  indignantly.  "He 
is  mercurial,  and  has  the  quick  impulsive- 
aess  of  his  race,  but  I  believe  him  as  sane 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ       275 

as  any  who  sat  with  him  on  the  board. 
There  must  be  some  rftistake,  or  you  have  n't 
got  the  whole  story."  Nevertheless,  I  did 
not  care  to  discuss  an  old  friend  with  a  mere 
acquaintance,  and  I  felt  secretly  puzzled  to 
account  for  his  conduct,  in  the  face  of  his 
previous  cleverness  in  manipulating  the  El 
Bolero,  and  the  undoubted  fascination  he 
had  previously  exercised  over  the  stock- 
holders. The  story  had,  of  course,  been 
garbled  in  repetition.  I  had  never  before 
imagined  what  might  be  the  effect  of  Enri- 
quez's  peculiar  eccentricities  upon  matter- 
of-fact  people,  —  I  had  found  them  only 
amusing,  — and  the  broker's  suggestion  an- 
noyed me.  However,  Mrs.  Saltillo  was 
here  in  the  hotel,  and  I  should,  of  course, 
meet  her.  Would  she  be  as  frank  with  me  ? 
I  was  disappointed  at  not  finding  her  in 
the  drawing-room  or  on  the  veranda;  and 
the  heat  being  still  unusually  oppressive,  I 
strolled  out  toward  the  redwoods,  hesitating 
for  a  moment  in  the  shade  before  I  ran  the 
fiery  gauntlet  of  the  garden.  To  my  sur- 
prise, I  had  scarcely  passed  the  giant  senti- 
nels on  its  outskirts  before  I  found  that, 
from  some  unusual  condition  of  the  atmo- 
sphere, the  cold  undercurrent  of  air  which 


276        THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ 

generally  drew  through  these  pillared  aisles 
was  withheld  that  afternoon;  it  was  abso- 
lutely hotter  than  in  the  open,  and  the  wood 
was  charged  throughout  with  the  acrid  spices 
of  the  pine.  I  turned  back  to  the  hotel, 
reascended  to  my  bedroom,  and  threw  my- 
self in  an  armchair  by  the  open  window. 
My  room  was  near  the  end  of  a  wing;  the 
corner  room  at  the  end  was  next  to  mine, 
on  the  same  landing.  Its  closed  door,  at 
right  angles  to  my  open  one,  gave  upon  the 
/staircase,  but  was  plainly  visible  from  where 
I  sat.  I  remembered  being  glad  that  it  was 
shut,  as  it  enabled  me  without  offense  to 
keep  my  own  door  open. 

The  house  was  very  quiet.  The  leaves  of 
a  catalpa,  across  the  roadway,  hung  motion- 
less. Somebody  yawned  on  the  veranda 
below.  I  threw  away  my  half -finished  cigar, 
and  closed  my  eyes.  I  think  I  had  not  lost 
consciousness  for  more  than  a  few  seconds 
before  I  was  awakened  by  the  shaking  and 
thrilling  of  the  whole  building.  As  I  stag- 
gered to  my  feet,  I  saw  the  four  pictures 
hanging  against  the  wall  swing  outwardly 
from  it  on  their  cords,  and  my  door  swing 
back  against  the  wall.  At  the  same  mo- 
ment, acted  upon  by  the  same  potential  im- 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ       277 

pulse,  the  door  of  the  end  room  in  the  hall, 
opposite  the  stairs,  also  swung  open.  In 
that  brief  moment  I  had  a  glimpse  of  the 
interior  of  the  room,  of  two  figures,  a  man 
and  a  woman,  the  latter  clinging  to  her  com- 
panion in  abject  terror.  It  was  only  for  an 
instant,  for  a  second  thrill  passed  through 
the  house,  the  pictures  clattered  back  against 
the  wall,  the  door  of  the  end  room  closed 
violently  on  its  strange  revelation,  and  my 
own  door  swung  back  also.  Apprehensive 
of  what  might  happen,  I  sprang  toward  it, 
but  only  to  arrest  it  an  inch  or  two  before 
it  should  shut,  when,  as  my  experience  had 
taught  me,  it  might  stick  by  the  subsidence 
of  the  walls.  But  it  did  stick  ajar,  and  re- 
mained firmly  fixed  in  that  position.  From 
the  clattering  of  the  knob  of  the  other  door, 
and  the  sound  of  hurried  voices  behind  it, 
I  knew  that  the  same  thing  had  happened 
there  when  that  door  had  fully  closed. 

I  was  familiar  enough  with  earthquakes 
to  know  that,  with  the  second  shock  or  sub- 
sidence of  the  earth,  the  immediate  danger 
was  passed,  and  so  I  was  able  to  note  more 
clearly  what  else  was  passing.  There  was 
the  usual  sudden  stampede  of  hurrying  feet, 
the  solitary  oath  and  scream,  the  half -hyster- 


278        THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ 

ical  laughter,  and  silence.  Then  the  tumult 
was  reawakened  to  the  sound  of  high  voices, 
talking  all  together,  or  the  impatient  calling 
of  absentees  in  halls  and  corridors.  Then  I 
heard  the  quick  swish  of  female  skirts  on 
the  staircase,  and  one  of  the  fair  guests 
knocked  impatiently  at  the  door  of  the  end 
room,  still  immovably  fixed.  At  the  first 
knock  there  was  a  sudden  cessation  of  the 
hurried  whisperings  and  turning  of  the  door- 
knob. 

"Mrs.  Saltillo,  are  you  there?  Are  you 
frightened?"  she  called. 

"Mrs.  Saltillo"!  It  was  she,  then,  who 
was  in  the  room !  I  drew  nearer  my  door, 
which  was  still  fixed  ajar.  Presently  a  voice, 
—  Mrs.  Saltillo 's  voice, —  with  a  constrained 
laugh  in  it,  came  from  behind  the  door: 
"Not  a  bit.  I  '11  come  down  in  a  minute." 

"Do,"  persisted  the  would-be  intruder. 
"It 's  all  over  now,  but  we  're  all  going  out 
into  the  garden;  it 's  safer." 

"All  right,"  answered  Mrs.  Saltillo. 
"Don't  wait,  dear.  I  '11  follow.  Kun 
away,  now." 

The  visitor,  who  was  evidently  still  ner- 
vous, was  glad  to  hurry  away,  and  I  heard 
her  retreating  step  on  the  staircase.  The 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ        279 

rattling  of  the  door  began  again,  and  at  last 
it  seemed  to  yield  to  a  stronger  pull,  and 
opened  sufficiently  to  allow  Mrs.  Saltillo  to 
squeeze  through.  I  withdrew  behind  my 
door.  I  fancied  that  it  creaked  as  she 
passed,  as  if,  noticing  it  ajar,  she  had  laid 
an  inquiring  hand  upon  it.  I  waited,  but 
she  was  not  followed  by  any  one.  I  won- 
dered if  I  had  been  mistaken.  I  was  going 
to  the  bell-rope  to  summon  assistance  to 
move  my  own  door  when  a  sudden  instinct 
withheld  me.  If  there  was  any  one  still  in 
that  room,  he  might  come  from  it  just  as 
the  servant  answered  my  call,  and  a  pub- 
lic discovery  would  be  unavoidable.  I  was 
right.  In  another  instant  the  figure  of  a 
man,  whose  face  I  could  not  discern,  slipped 
out  of  the  room,  passed  my  door,  and  went 
stealthily  down  the  staircase. 

Convinced  of  this,  T  resolved  not  to  call 
public  attention  to  my  being  in  my  own 
room  at  the  time  of  the  incident;  so  I  did 
not  summon  any  one,  but,  redoubling  my 
efforts,  I  at  last  opened  the  door  sufficiently 
to  pass  out,  and  at  once  joined  the  other 
guests  in  the  garden.  Already,  with  char- 
acteristic recklessness  and  audacity,  the 
earthquake  was  made  light  of;  the  only  die- 


280       THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ 

tate  of  prudence  had  resolved  itself  into  a 
hilarious  proposal  to  "camp  out"  in  the 
woods  all  night,  and  have  a  "torch-light 
picnic."  Even  then  preparations  were  be- 
ing made  for  carrying  tents,  blankets,  and 
pillows  to  the  adjacent  redwoods;  dinner 
and  supper,  cooked  at  campfires,  were  to 
be  served  there  on  stumps  of  trees  and  fallen 
logs.  The  convulsion  of  nature  had  been 
used  as  an  excuse  for  one  of  the  wildest 
freaks  of  extravagance  that  Carquinez 
Springs  had  ever  known.  Perhaps  that 
quick  sense  of  humor  which  dominates  the 
American  male  in  exigencies  of  this  kind 
kept  the  extravagances  from  being  merely 
bizarre  and  grotesque,  and  it  was  presently 
known  that  the  hotel  and  its  menage  were 
to  be  appropriately  burlesqued  by  some  of 
the  guests,  who,  attired  as  Indians,  would 
personate  the  staff,  from  the  oracular  hotel 
proprietor  himself  down  to  the  smart  hotel 
clerk. 

During  these  arrangements  I  had  a  chance 
of  drawing  near  Mrs.  Saltillo.  I  fancied 
she  gave  a  slight  start  as  she  recognized  me ; 
but  her  greetings  were  given  with  her  usual 
precision.  "Have  you  been  here  long?" 
she  asked. 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ       281 

"I  have  only  just  come,"  I  replied  laugh- 
ingly; "in  time  for  the  shock." 

"Ah,  you  felt  it,  then?  1  was  telling 
these  ladies  that  our  eminent  geologist,  Pro- 
fessor Dobbs,  assured  me  that  these  seismic 
disturbances  in  California  have  a  very  re- 
mote centre,  and  are  seldom  serious." 

"It  must  be  very  satisfactory  to  have  the 
support  of  geology  at  such  a  moment,"  I 
could  not  help  saying,  though  I  had  not  the 
slightest  idea  whose  the  figure  was  that  I 
had  seen,  nor,  indeed,  had  I  recognized  it 
among  the  guests.  She  did  not  seem  to  de- 
tect any  significance  in  my  speech,  and  I 
added:  "And  where  is  Enriquez?  He 
would  enjoy  this  proposed  picnic  to-night." 

"  Enriquez  is  at  Salvatierra  Rancho,  which 
he  lately  bought  from  his  cousin." 

"And  the  baby?  Surely,  here  is  a  chance 
for  you  to  hang  him  up  on  a  redwood  to- 
night, in  his  cradle." 

"The  boy,"  said  Mrs.  SaltiUo  quickly, 
"is  no  longer  in  his  cradle;  he  has  passed 
the  pupa  state,  and  is  now  free  to  develop 
his  own  perfected  limbs.  He  is  with  his 
father.  I  do  not  approve  of  children  being 
submitted  to  the  indiscriminate  attentions 
of  a  hotel.  I  am  here  myself  only  for  that 


282        THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ 

supply  of  ozone  indicated  for  brain  exhaus- 
tion." 

She  looked  so  pretty  and  prim  in  her  gray 
dress,  so  like  her  old  correct  self,  that  I 
could  not  think  of  anything  but  her  mental 
attitude,  which  did  not,  by  the  way,  seem 
much  like  mental  depression.  Yet  I  was 
aware  that  I  was  getting  no  information  of 
Enriquez's  condition  or  affairs,  unless  the 
whole  story  told  by  the  broker  was  an  exag- 
geration. I  did  not,  however,  dare  to  ask 
more  particularly. 

"You  remember  Professor  Dobbs?"  she 
asked  abruptly. 

This  recalled  a  suspicion  awakened  by  my 
vision,  so  suddenly  that  I  felt  myself  blush- 
ing. She  did  not  seem  to  notice  it,  and  was 
perfectly  composed. 

"I  do  remember  him.     Is  he  here?  " 

"He  is;  that  is  what  makes  it  so  particu- 
larly unfortunate  for  me.  You  see,  after 
that  affair  of  the  board,  and  Enriquez's 
withdrawal,  although  Enriquez  may  have 
been  a  little  precipitate  in  his  energetic  way, 
I  naturally  took  my  husband's  part  in  pub- 
lic ;  for  although  we  preserve  our  own  inde- 
pendence inviolable,  we  believe  in  absolute 
confederation  as  against  society." 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ       283 

"But  what  has  Professor  Dobbs  to  do 
with  the  board?  "  I  interrupted. 

"The  professor  was  scientific  and  geolo- 
gical adviser  to  the  board,  and  it  was  upon 
some  report  or  suggestion  of  his  that  Enri- 
quez  took  issue,  against  the  sentiment  of  the 
board.  It  was  a  principle  affecting  Enri- 
quez's  Spanish  sense  of  honor." 

"Do  tell  me  all  about  it,"  I  said  eagerly; 
"I  am  very  anxious  to  know  the  truth." 

"As  I  was  not  present  at  the  time,"  said 
Mrs.  Saltillo,  rebuking  my  eagerness  with 
a  gentle  frigidity,  "I  am  unable  to  do  so. 
Anything  else  would  be  mere  hearsay,  and 
more  or  less  ex  parte.  I  do  not  approve  of 
gossip." 

"But  what  did  Enriquez  tell  you?  You 
surely  know  that." 

"  That,  being  purely  confidential,  as  be- 
tween husband  and  wife,  —  perhaps  I  should 
say  partner  and  partner,  —  of  course  you  do 
not  expect  me  to  disclose.  Enough  that  1 
was  satisfied  with  it.  I  should  not  have 
spoken  to  you  about  it  at  all,  but  that, 
through  myself  and  Enriquez,  you  are  an 
acquaintance  of  the  professor's,  and  I  might 
save  you  the  awkwardness  of  presenting 
yourself  with  him.  Otherwise,  although 


284       THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ 

you  are  a  friend  of  Enriquez,  it  need  not 
affect  your  acquaintance  with  the  professor." 

"Hang  the  professor!  "  I  ejaculated.  "I 
don't  care  a  rap  for  him." 

"Then  I  differ  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Sal- 
tillo,  with  precision.  "He  is  distinctly  an 
able  man,  and  one  cannot  but  miss  the  con- 
tact of  his  original  mind  and  his  liberal 
teachings." 

Here  she  was  joined  by  one  of  the  ladies, 
and  I  lounged  away.  I  dare  say  it  was  very 
mean  and  very  illogical,  but  the  unsatisfac- 
tory character  of  this  interview  made  me 
revert  again  to  the  singular  revelation  I  had 
seen  a  few  hours  before.  I  looked  anxiously 
for  Professor  Dobbs;  but  when  I  did  meet 
him,  with  an  indifferent  nod  of  recognition, 
I  found  I  could  by  no  means  identify  him 
with  the  figure  of  her  mysterious  companion. 
And  why  should  I  suspect  him  at  all,  in  the 
face  of  Mrs.  Saltillo's  confessed  avoidance 
of  him?  Who,  then,  could  it  have  been?  I 
had  seen  them  but  an  instant,  in  the  opening 
and  the  shutting  of  a  door.  It  was  merely 
the  shadowy  bulk  of  a  man  that  flitted 
past  my  door,  after  all.  Could  I  have  ima- 
gined the  whole  thing  ?  Were  my  perceptive 
faculties  — -just  aroused  from  slumber,  too 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ       285 

—  sufficiently  clear  to  be  relied  upon? 
Would  I  not  have  laughed  had  Urania,  or 
even  Enriquez  himself,  told  ine  such  a 
story  ? 

As  I  reentered  the  hotel  the  clerk  handed 
me  a  telegram.  "There  's  been  a  pretty  big 
shake  all  over  the  country,"  he  said  eagerly. 
"Everybody  is  getting  news  and  inquiries 
from  their  friends.  Anything  fresh  ?"  He 
paused  interrogatively  as  I  tore  open  the  en- 
velope. The  dispatch  had  been  redirected 
from  the  office  of  the  "Daily  Excelsior."  It 
was  dated,  "Salvatierra  Rancho,"  and  con- 
tained a  single  line:  "Come  and  see  your 
old  uncle  'Ennery." 

There  was  nothing  in  the  wording  of  the 
message  that  was  unlike  Enriquez 's  usual 
light-hearted  levity,  but  the  fact  that  he 
should  have  telegraphed  it  to  me  struck  me 
uneasily.  That  I  should  have  received  it 
at  the  hotel  where  his  wife  and  Professor 
Dobbs  were  both  staying,  and  where  I  had 
had  such  a  singular  experience,  seemed  to 
me  more  than  a  mere  coincidence.  An  in- 
stinct that  the  message  was  something  per- 
sonal to  Enriquez  and  myself  kept  me  from 
imparting  it  to  Mrs.  Saltillo.  After  worry- 
ing half  the  night  in  our  bizarre  camp  in 


286       THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ 

the  redwoods,  in  the  midst  of  a  restless  fes- 
tivity which  was  scarcely  the  repose  I  had 
been  seeking  at  Carquinez  Springs,  I  re- 
solved to  leave  the  next  day  for  Salvatierra 
Rancho.  I  remembered  the  rancho,  —  a 
low,  golden-brown,  adobe-walled  quadrangle, 
sleeping  like  some  monstrous  ruminant  in 
a  hollow  of  the  Contra  Costa  Range.  I  re- 
called, in  the  midst  of  this  noisy  picnic,  the 
slumberous  coolness  of  its  long  corridors  and 
soundless  courtyard,  and  hailed  it  as  a  re- 
lief. The  telegram  was  a  sufficient  excuse 
for  my  abrupt  departure.  In  the  morning 
I  left,  but  without  again  seeing  either  Mrs. 
Saltillo  or  the  professor. 

It  was  late  the  next  afternoon  when  I  rode 
through  the  Canada  that  led  to  the  rancho. 
I  confess  my  thoughts  were  somewhat 
gloomy,  in  spite  of  my  escape  from  the  noisy 
hotel ;  but  this  was  due  to  the  sombre  scen- 
ery through  which  I  had  just  ridden,  and 
the  monotonous  russet  of  the  leagues  of  wild 
oats.  As  I  approached  the  rancho,  I  saw 
that  Enriquez  had  made  no  attempt  to  mod- 
ernize the  old  casa,  and  that  even  the  gar- 
den was  left  in  its  lawless  native  luxuriance, 
while  the  rude  tiled  sheds  near  the  walled 
corral  contained  the  old  farming  implements, 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ       287 

unchanged  for  a  century,  even  to  the  ox- 
carts, the  wheels  of  which  were  made  of  a 
single  block  of  wood.  A  few  peons,  in 
striped  shirts  and  velvet  jackets,  were  sun- 
ning themselves  against  a  wall,  and  near 
them  hung  a  half -drained  pellejo,  or  goat- 
skin water-bag.  The  air  of  absolute  shift- 
lessness  must  have  been  repellent  to  Mrs. 
Saltillo's  orderly  precision,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment I  pitied  her.  But  it  was  equally  in- 
consistent with  Enriquez's  enthusiastic  ideas 
of  American  progress,  and  the  extravagant 
designs  he  had  often  imparted  to  me  of  the 
improvements  he  would  make  when  he  had 
a  fortune.  I  was  feeling  uneasy  again,  when 
I  suddenly  heard  the  rapid  clack  of  unshod 
hoofs  on  a  rocky  trail  that  joined  my  own. 
At  the  same  instant  a  horseman  dashed  past 
me  at  full  speed.  I  had  barely  time  to 
swerve  my  own  horse  aside  to  avoid  a  colli- 
sion, yet  in  that  brief  moment  I  recognized 
the  figure  of  Enriquez.  But  his  face  I 
should  have  scarcely  known.  It  was  hard 
and  fixed.  His  upper  lip  and  thin,  pen- 
ciled mustache  were  drawn  up  over  his 
teeth,  which  were  like  a  white  gash  in  his 
dark  face.  He  turned  into  the  courtyard 
of  the  rancho.  I  put  spurs  to  my  horse, 


288       THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ 

and  followed,  in  nervous  expectation.  He 
turned  in  his  saddle  as  I  entered.  But  the 
next  moment  he  bounded  from  his  horse, 
and,  before  I  could  dismount,  flew  to  my 
side  and  absolutely  lifted  me  from  the  sad- 
dle to  embrace  me.  It  was  the  old  Enri- 
quez  again;  his  face  seemed  to  have  utterly 
changed  in  that  brief  moment. 

"This  is  all  very  well,  old  chap,"  I  said; 
"  but  do  you  know  that  you  nearly  ran  me 
down,  just  now,  with  that  infernal  half- 
broken  mustang?  Do  you  usually  charge 
the  casa  at  that  speed  ?  " 

"Pardon,  my  leetle  brother!  But  here 
you  shall  slip  up.  The  mustang  is  not  half- 
broken;  he  is  not  broke  at  all!  Look  at  his 
hoof  —  never  have  a  shoe  been  there.  For 
myself  —  attend  me !  When  I  rride  alone, 
I  think  mooch ;  when  I  think  mooch  I  think 
fast;  my  idea  he  go  like  a  cannon-ball! 
Consequent,  if  I  ride  not  thees  horse  like 
the  cannon-ball,  my  thought  he  arrive  first, 
and  where  are  you?  You  get  left!  Believe 
me  that  I  fly  thees  horse,  thees  old  Mexican 
plug,  and  your  de'  uncle  'Ennery  and  his 
leetle  old  idea  arrive  all  the  same  time,  and 
on  the  instant." 

It  was  the  old  Enriquez !     I  perfectly  un- 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ       289 

derstood  his  extravagant  speech  and  illustra- 
tion, and  yet  for  the  first  time  I  wondered 
if  others  did. 

"Tak'-a-drink!  "  he  said,  all  in  one  word. 
"You  shall  possess  the  old  Bourbon  or  the 
rhum  from  the  Santa  Cruz!  Name  your 
poison,  gentlemen!" 

He  had  already  dragged  me  up  the  steps 
from  the  patio  to  the  veranda,  and  seated 
me  before  a  small  round  table  still  covered 
with  the  chocolate  equipage  of  the  morning. 
A  little  dried-up  old  Indian  woman  took  it 
away,  and  brought  the  spirits  and  glasses. 

"Mirar  the  leetle  old  one!"  said  Enri- 
quez,  with  unflinching  gravity.  "  Consider 
her,  Pancho,  to  the  bloosh!  She  is  not 
truly  an  Aztec,  but  she  is  of  years  one  hun- 
dred and  one,  and  lifs!  Possibly  she  haf 
not  the  beauty  which  ravishes,  which  devas- 
tates. But  she  shall  attent  you  to  the  hot 
water,  to  the  bath.  Thus  shall  you  be  pro- 
tect, my  leetle  brother,  from  scandal." 

"Enriquez,"  I  burst  out  suddenly,  "tell 
me  about  yourself.  Why  did  you  leave  the 
El  Bolero  board?  What  was  the  row 
about?  " 

Enriquez 's  eyes  for  a  moment  glittered; 
then  they  danced  as  before. 


290       THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "you  have  heard?'* 

"Something;  but  I  want  to  know  the 
truth  from  you." 

He  lighted  a  cigarette,  lifted  himself 
backward  into  a  grass  hammock,  on  which 
he  sat,  swinging  his  feet.  Then,  pointing 
to  another  hammock,  he  said :  "  Tranquillize 
yourself  there.  I  will  relate;  but,  truly,  it 
ees  nothing." 

He  took  a  long  pull  at  his  cigarette,  and 
for  a  few  moments  seemed  quietly  to  exude 
smoke  from  his  eyes,  ears,  nose,  even  his 
finger-ends  —  everywhere,  in  fact,  but  his 
mouth.  That  and  his  mustache  remained 
fixed.  Then  he  said  slowly,  flicking  away 
the  ashes  with  his  little  finger :  — 

"First  you  understand,  friend  Pancho, 
that  /  make  no  row.  The  other  themself 
make  the  row,  the  shindig.  They  make 
the  dance,  the  howl,  the  snap  of  the  finger, 
the  oath,  the  '  Helen  blazes/  the  '  Wot  the 
devil,'  the  'That  be  d— d,'  the  bad  lan- 
guage; they  themselves  finger  the  revolver, 
advance  the  bowie-knife,  throw  off  the  coat, 
square  off,  and  say  4  Come  on.'  I  remain 
as  you  see  me  now,  little  brother  —  tran- 
quil." He  lighted  another  cigarette,  made 
his  position  more  comfortable  in  the  ham- 


THE  PASSING   OF  ENEIQUEZ       291 

oiock,  and  resumed :  "  The  Professor  Dobbs, 
#ho  is  the  geologian  of  the  company,  made 
a  report  for  which  he  got  two  thousand 
dollar.  But  thees  report  —  look  you,  friend 
Pancho  —  he  is  not  good  for  the  mine.  For 
in  the  hole  in  the  ground  the  Professor 
Dobbs  have  found  a  '  hoss. ' ' 

"A  what?"  I  asked. 

"A  hoss,"  repeated  Enriquez,  with  infi- 
nite gravity.  "But  not,  leetle  Pancho,  the 
hoss  that  run,  the  hoss  that  buck-jump,  but 
what  the  miner  call  a  '  hoss, '  a  something 
that  rear  up  in  the  vein  and  stop  him.  You 
pick  around  the  hoss ;  you  pick  under  him ; 
sometimes  you  find  the  vein,  sometimes  you 
do  not.  The  hoss  rear  up,  and  remain! 
Eet  ees  not  good  for  the  mine.  The  board 

say,  '  D the  hoss ! '  '  Get  rid  of  the 

hoss.'  'Chuck  out  the  hoss.'  Then  they 
talk  together,  and  one  say  to  the  Professor 
Dobbs :  '  Eef  you  cannot  thees  hoss  remove 
from  the  mine,  you  can  take  him  out  of  the 
report.'  He  look  to  me,  thees  professor. 
I  see  nothing ;  I  remain  tranquil.  Then  the 
board  say :  '  Thees  report  with  the  hoss  in 
him  is  worth  two  thousand  dollar,  but  with- 
out the  hoss  he  is  worth  five  thousand  dol- 
lar. For  the  stockholder  is  frighted  of  the 


292       THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ 

rearing  hoss.  It  is  of  a  necessity  that  the 
stockholder  should  remain  tranquil.  With- 
out the  hoss  the  report  is  good;  the  stock 
shall  errise ;  the  director  shall  sell  out,  and 
leave  the  stockholder  the  hoss  to  play  with. ' 
The  professor  he  say,  '  Al-right ; '  he  scratch 
out  the  hoss,  sign  his  name,  and  get  a  check 
for  three  thousand  dollar." 

"Then  I  errise  —  so!"  He  got  up  from 
the  hammock,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word, 
and  during  the  rest  of  his  narrative,  I  hon- 
estly believe,  assumed  the  same  attitude  and 
deliberate  intonation  he  had  exhibited  at  the 
board.  I  could  even  fancy  I  saw  the  reck- 
less, cynical  faces  of  his  brother  directors 
turned  upon  his  grim,  impassive  features. 
"I  am  tranquil-  I  smoke  my  cigarette.  I 
say  that  'or  three  hundred  year  my  family 
have  held  the  land  of  thees  mine;  that  it 
pass  from  father  to  son,  and  from  son  to 
son;  it  pass  by  gift,  it  pass  by  grant,  but 
that  nevarre  there  pass  a  lie  with  it!  I  say 
it  was  a  gift  by  a  Spanish  Christian  king  to 
a  Christian  hidalgo  for  the  spread  of  the 
gospel,  and  not  for  the  cheat  and  the  swin- 
dle! I  say  that  this  mine  was  worked  by 
the  slave,  and  by  the  mule,  by  the  ass,  but 
never  by  the  cheat  and  swindler.  I  say 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENBIQUEZ       293 

that  if  they  have  struck  the  hoss  in  the 
mine,  they  have  struck  a  hoss  in  the  land, 
a  Spanish  hoss;  a  hoss  that  have  no  bridle 
worth  five  thousand  dollar  in  his  mouth,  but 
a  hoss  to  rear,  and  a  hoss  that  cannot  bo 
struck  out  by  a  Yankee  geologian ;  and  that 
hoss  is  Enriquez  Saltillo !  " 

He  paused,  and  laid  aside  his  cigarette. 
"Then  they  say,  «  Dry  up,'  and  '  Sell  out; ' 
and  the  great  bankers  say,  4  Name  your  own 
price  for  your  stock,  and  resign.'  And  I 
say,  '  There  is  not  enough  gold  in  your 
bank,  in  your  San  Francisco,  in  the  mines 
of  California,  that  shall  buy  a  Spanish  gen- 
tleman. When  I  leave,  I  leave  the  stock 
at  my  back;  I  shall  take  it,  nevarre!  ' 
Then  the  banker  he  say,  '  And  you  will  go 
and  blab,  I  suppose  ?  '  And  then,  Pancho, 
I  smile,  I  pick  up  my  mustache  —  so !  and 
I  say:  '  Pardon,  senor,  you  haf  mistake. 
The  Saltillo  haf  for  three  hundred  year  no 
stain,  no  blot  upon  him.  Eet  is  not  now 
—  the  last  of  the  race  —  who  shall  confess 
that  he  haf  sit  at  a  board  of  disgrace  and 
dishonor ! '  And  then  it  is  that  the  band 
begin  to  play,  and  the  animals  stand  on 
their  hind  leg  and  waltz,  and  behold,  the 
row  he  haf  begin!  " 


294        THE  PASSING   OF  ENBIQUEZ 

I  ran  over  to  Mm,  and  fairly  hugged  him. 
But  he  put  me  aside  with  a  gentle  and 
philosophical  calm.  "Ah,  eet  is  nothing, 
Pancho.  It  is,  believe  me,  all  the  same  a 
hundred  years  to  come,  and  where  are  you, 
then?  The  earth  he  turn  round,  and  then 
come  el  temblor,  the  earthquake,  and  there 
you  are !  Bah !  eet  is  not  of  the  board  that 
I  have  asked  you  to  come ;  it  is  something 
else  I  would  tell  you.  Go  and  wash  your- 
self of  thees  journey,  my  leetle  brother,  as  I 
have  "  —  looking  at  his  narrow,  brown,  well- 
bred  hands — "wash  myself  of  the  board. 
Be  very  careful  of  the  leetle  old  woman, 
Pancho;  do  not  wink  to  her  of  the  eye! 
Consider,  my  leetle  brother,  for  one  hun- 
dred and  one  year  lie  haf  been  as  a  nun,  a 
saint!  Disturb  not  her  tranquillity." 

Yes,  it  was  the  old  Enriquez;  but  he 
seemed  graver,  —  if  I  could  use  that  word 
of  one  of  such  persistent  gravity;  only  his 
gravity  heretofore  had  suggested  a  certain 
irony  rather  than  a  melancholy  which  I  now 
fancied  I  detected.  And  what  was  this 
"something  else  "  he  was  to  "tell  me  later  "? 
Did  it  refer  to  Mrs.  Saltillo?  I  had  pur- 
posely waited  for  him  to  speak  of  her,  be- 
fore I  should  say  anything  of  my  visit  to 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENKIQUEZ       295 

Carquinez  Springs.  I  hurried  through  my 
ablutions  in  the  hot  water,  brought  in  a 
bronze  jar  on  the  head  of  the  centenarian 
handmaid;  and  even  while  I  was  smiling 
over  Enriquez's  caution  regarding  this  aged 
Ruth,  I  felt  I  was  getting  nervous  to  hear 
his  news. 

I  found  him  in  his  sitting-room,  or  study, 
—  a  long,  low  apartment  with  small,  deep 
windows  like  embrasures  in  the  outer  adobe 
wall,  but  glazed  in  lightly  upon  the  veranda. 
He  was  sitting  quite  abstractedly,  with  a 
pen  in  his  hand,  before  a  table,  on  which 
a  number  of  sealed  envelopes  were  lying. 
He  looked  so  formal  and  methodical  for 
Enriquez. 

"You  like  the  old  casa,  Pancho?"  he 
said  in  reply  to  my  praise  of  its  studious 
and  monastic  gloom.  "Well,  my  leetle  bro- 
ther, some  day  that  is  fair  —  who  knows  ?  — 
it  may  be  at  your  disposition ;  not  of  our 
politeness,  but  of  a  truth,  friend  Pancho. 
For,  if  I  leave  it  to  my  wife  "  —  it  was  the 
first  time  he  had  spoken  of  her  —  "  for  my 
leetle  child,"  he  added  quickly,  UI  shall 
put  in  a  bond,  an  obligation,  that  my  friend 
Pancho  shall  come  and  go  as  he  will." 

"The  Saltillos  are  a  long-lived  race,"  I 


296       THE  PASSING  OF  ENBIQUEZ 

laughed.  "I  shall  be  a  gray -haired  man, 
with  a  house  and  family  of  my  own  by  that 
time."  But  I  did  not  like  the  way  he  had 
spoken. 

"  Quien  sabe  ?  "  he  only  said,  dismissing 
the  question  with  the  national  gesture.  Af- 
ter a  moment  he  added:  "I  shall  tell  you 
something  that  is  strrange,  so  strrange  that 
you  shall  say,  like  the  banker  say,  '  Thees 
Enriquez,  he  ees  off  his  head;  he  ees  a 
crank,  a  lunatico ;  '  but  it  ees  a  fact  /  be- 
lieve me,  I  have  said!  " 

He  rose,  and,  going  to  the  end  of  the 
room,  opened  a  door.  It  showed  a  pretty 
little  room,  femininely  arranged  in  Mrs. 
Saltillo's  refined  taste.  "Eet  is  pretty; 
eet  is  the  room  of  my  wife.  Bueno  !  attend 
me  now."  He  closed  the  door,  and  walked 
back  to  the  table.  "I  have  sit  here  and 
write  when  the  earthquake  arrive.  I  have 
feel  the  shock,  the  grind  of  the  walls  on 
themselves,  the  tremor,  the  stagger,  and  — 
that  —  door  —  he  swing  open !  " 

"The  door?"  I  said,  with  a  smile  that  I 
felt  was  ghastly. 

"Comprehend  me,"  he  said  quickly;  "it 
ees  not  that  which  ees  strrange.  The  wall 
lift,  the  lock  slip,  the  door  he  fell  open ;  it 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ        297 

is  frequent ;  it  comes  so  ever  when  the  earth- 
quake come.  But  eet  is  not  my  wife's  room 
I  see;  it  is  another  room,  a  room  I  know 
not.  My  wife  Urania,  she  stand  there,  of 
a  fear,  of  a  tremble ;  she  grasp,  she  cling  to 
some  one.  The  earth  shake  again ;  the  door 
shut.  I  jump  from  my  table ;  I  shake  and 
tumble  to  the  door.  I  fling  him  open. 
Maravilloso !  it  is  the  room  of  my  wife 
again.  She  is  not  there;  it  is  empty;  it  is 
nothing! " 

I  felt  myself  turning  hot  and  cold  by 
turns.  I  was  horrified,  and  —  and  I  blun- 
dered. "And  who  was  the  other  figure?'* 
I  gasped. 

"  Who  ?  "  repeated  Enriquez,  with  a  pause, 
a  fixed  look  at  me,  and  a  sublime  gesture. 
"Who  should  it  be,  but  myself,  Enriquez 
Saltillo?" 

A  terrible  premonition  that  this  was  a 
chivalrous  lie,  that  it  was  not  himself  he  had 
seen,  but  that  our  two  visions  were  identi- 
cal, came  upon  me.  "After  all,"  I  said, 
with  a  fixed  smile,  "if  you  could  imagine 
you  saw  your  wife,  you  could  easily  imagine 
you  saw  yourself  too.  In  the  shock  of  the 
moment  you  thought  of  her  naturally,  for 
then  she  would  as  naturally  seek  your  pro- 


298       THE  PASSING  OF  ENBIQUEZ 

tection.  You  have  written  for  news  of 
her?  " 

"No,"  said  Enriquez  quietly. 

"No?"  I  repeated  amazedly. 

"You  understand,  Pancho!  Eef  it  was 
the  trick  of  my  eyes,  why  should  I  affright 
her  for  the  thing  that  is  not?  If  it  is  the 
truth,  and  it  arrive  to  me,  as  a  warning, 
why  shall  I  affright  her  before  it  come?" 

"  Before  what  comes  ?  What  is  it  a  warn- 
ing of  ?  "  I  asked  impetuously. 

"That  we  shall  be  separated!  That  1 
go,  and  she  do  not." 

To  my  surprise,  his  dancing  eyes  had  a 
slight  film  over  them.  "I  don't  understand 
you,"  I  said  awkwardly. 

"Your  head  is  not  of  a  level,  my  Pancho. 
Thees  earthquake  he  remain  for  only  ten 
seconds,  and  he  fling  open  the  door.  If  he 
remain  for  twenty  seconds,  he  fling  open  the 
wall,  the  hoose  toomble,  and  your  friend 
Enriquez  is  feenish." 

"Nonsense!"  I  said.  "Professor  —  I 
mean  the  geologists  —  say  that  the  centre  of 
disturbance  of  these  Californian  earthquakes 
is  some  far-away  point  in  the  Pacific  and 
there  never  will  be  any  serious  convulsions 
here." 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENEIQUEZ       299 

"Ah,  the  geologist,"  said  Enriquez 
gravely,  "understand  the  hoss  that  rear  in 
the  mine,  and  the  five  thousand  dollar,  be- 
lieve me,  no  more.  He  haf  lif  here  three 
year.  My  family  haf  lif  here  three  hun- 
dred. My  grandfather  saw  the  earth  swal- 
low the  church  of  San  Juan  Baptista." 

I  laughed,  until,  looking  up,  I  was 
shocked  to  see  for  the  first  time  that  his 
dancing  eyes  were  moist  and  shining*  But 
almost  instantly  he  jumped  up,  and  declared 
that  I  had  not  seen  the  garden  and  the  cor- 
ral, and,  linking  his  arm  in  mine,  swept  me 
like  a  whirlwind  into  the  patio.  For  an 
hour  or  two  he  was  in  his  old  invincible 
spirits.  I  was  glad  I  had  said  nothing  of 
my  visit  to  Carquinez  Springs  and  of  seeing 
his  wife;  I  determined  to  avoid  it  as  long 
as  possible;  and  as  he  did  not  again  refer 
to  her,  except  in  the  past,  it  was  not  diffi- 
cult. At  last  he  infected  me  with  his  ex- 
travagance, and  for  a  while  I  forgot  even 
the  strangeness  of  his  conduct  and  his  con- 
fidences. We  walked  and  talked  together 
as  of  old.  I  understood  and  enjoyed  him 
perfectly,  and  it  was  not  strange  that  in  the 
end  I  began  to  believe  that  this  strange  reve- 
lation was  a  bit  of  his  extravagant  acting, 


300       THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ 

got  up  to  amuse  me.  The  coincidence  of 
bis  story  with  my  own  experience  was  not, 
after  all,  such  a  wonderful  thing,  consider- 
ing what  must  have  been  the  nervous  and 
mental  disturbance  produced  by  the  earth- 
quake. We  dined  together,  attended  only 
by  Pedro,  an  old  half-caste  body-servant. 
It  was  easy  to  see  that  the  household  was 
carried  on  economically,  and,  from  a  word 
or  two  casually  dropped  by  Enriquez,  it 
appeared  that  the  rancho  and  a  small  sum 
of  money  were  all  that  he  retained  from  his 
former  fortune  when  he  left  the  El  Bolero. 
The  stock  he  kept  intact,  refusing  to  take 
the  dividend  upon  it  until  that  collapse  of 
the  company  should  occur  which  he  confi- 
dently predicted,  when  he  would  make  good 
the  swindled  stockholders.  I  had  no  reason 
to  doubt  his  perfect  faith  in  this. 

The  next  morning  we  were  up  early  for  a 
breezy  gallop  over  the  three  square  miles 
of  Enriquez' s  estate.  I  was  astounded, 
when  I  descended  to  the  patio,  to  find  Enri- 
quez already  mounted,  and  carrying  before 
him,  astride  of  the  horn  of  his  saddle,  a 
small  child,  —  the  identical  papoose  of  my 
memorable  first  visit.  But  the  boy  was  no 
longer  swathed  and  bandaged,  although,  for 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ        301 

security,  his  plump  little  body  was  engirt  by 
the  same  sash  that  encircled  his  father's  own 
waist.  I  felt  a  stirring  of  self-reproach;  I 
had  forgotten  all  about  him !  To  my  sug- 
gestion that  the  exercise  might  be  fatiguing 
to  him,  Enriquez  shrugged  his  shoulders :  — • 

"Believe  me,  no!  He  is  ever  with  me 
when  I  go  on  the  pasear.  He  is  not  too 
yonge.  For  he  shall  learn  '  to  rride,  to 
shoot,  and  to  speak  the  truth, '  even  as  the 
Persian  chile.  Eet  ees  all  I  can  gif  to 
him." 

Nevertheless,  I  think  the  boy  enjoyed  it, 
and  I  knew  he  was  safe  with  such  an  accom- 
plished horseman  as  his  father.  Indeed,  it 
was  a  fine  sight  to  see  them  both  careering 
over  the  broad  plain,  Enriquez  with  jingling 
spurs  and  whirling  riata>  and  the  boy,  with 
a  face  as  composed  as  his  father's,  and  his 
tiny  hand  grasping  the  end  of  the  flapping 
rein  with  a  touch  scarcely  lighter  than  the 
skillful  rider's  own.  It  was  a  lovely  morn- 
ing; though  warm  and  still,  there  was  a 
faint  haze  —  a  rare  thing  in  that  climate  — • 
on  the  distant  range.  The  sun-baked  soil, 
arid  and  thirsty  from  the  long  summer 
drought,  and  cracked  into  long  fissures, 
broke  into  puffs  of  dust,  with  a  slight  deto- 


302       THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ 

nation  like  a  pistol-shot,  at  each  stroke  of 
our  pounding  hoofs.  Suddenly  my  horse 
swerved  in  full  gallop,  almost  lost  his  foot- 
ing, "broke,"  and  halted  with  braced  fore 
feet,  trembling  in  every  limb.  I  heard  a 
shout  from  Enriquez  at  the  same  instant, 
and  saw  that  he  too  had  halted  about  a  hun- 
dred paces  from  me,  with  his  hand  uplifted 
in  warning,  and  between  us  a  long  chasm  in 
the  dry  earth,  extending  across  the  whole 
field.  But  the  trembling  of  the  horse  con- 
tinued until  it  communicated  itself  to  me. 
/  was  shaking,  too,  and,  looking  about  for 
the  cause,  when  I  beheld  the  most  weird 
and  remarkable  spectacle  I  had  ever  wit- 
nessed. The  whole  llano,  or  plain,  stretch- 
ing to  the  horizon-line,  was  distinctly  undu- 
lating !  The  faint  haze  of  the  hills  was 
repeated  over  its  surface,  as  if  a  dust  had 
arisen  from  some  grinding  displacement  of 
the  soil.  I  threw  myself  from  my  horse, 
but  the  next  moment  was  fain  to  cling  to 
him,  as  I  felt  the  thrill  under  my  very  feet. 
Then  there  was  a  pause,  and  I  lifted  my 
head  to  look  for  Enriquez.  He  was  no- 
where to  be  seen !  With  a  terrible  recollec- 
tion of  the  fissure  that  had  yawned  between 
us,  I  sprang  to  the  saddle  again,  and  spurred 


THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ       303 

the  frightened  beast  toward  that  point.  But 
it  was  gone,  too!  I  rode  backward  and 
forward  repeatedly  along  the  line  where  I 
had  seen  it  only  a  moment  before.  The 
plain  lay  compact  and  uninterrupted,  with- 
out a  crack  or  fissure.  The  dusty  haze  that 
had  arisen  had  passed  as  mysteriously  away ; 
the  clear  outline  of  the  valley  returned;  the 
great  field  was  empty ! 

Presently  I  was  aware  of  the  sound  of 
galloping  hoofs.  I  remembered  then  — 
what  I  had  at  first  forgotten  —  that  a  few 
moments  before  we  had  crossed  an  arroyo, 
or  dried  bed  of  a  stream,  depressed  below 
the  level  of  the  field.  How  foolish  that  I 
had  not  remembered!  He  had  evidently 
sought  that  refuge;  there  were  his  return- 
ing hoofs.  I  galloped  toward  it,  but  only 
to  meet  a  frightened  vaquero,  who  had  taken 
that  avenue  of  escape  to  the  rancho. 

"Did  you  see  Don  Enriquez?"  I  asked 
impatiently. 

I  saw  that  the  man's  terror  was  extreme, 
and  his  eyes  were  staring  in  their  sockets. 
He  hastily  crossed  himself :  — 

"Ah,  God,  yes!" 

"Where  is  he?"  I  demanded. 

"Gone!" 


304       THE  PASSING  OF  ENRIQUEZ 

"Where?" 

He  looked  at  me  with  staring,  vacant 
eyes,  and,  pointing  to  the  ground,  said  in 
Spanish:  "He  has  returned  to  the  land  of 
his  fathers!" 

We  searched  for  him  that  day  and  the 
next,  when  the  country  was  aroused  and  his 
neighbors  joined  in  a  quest  that  proved  use- 
less. Neither  he  nor  his  innocent  burden 
was  ever  seen  again  of  men.  Wrhether  he 
had  been  engulfed  by  mischance  in  some 
unsuspected  yawning  chasm  in  that  brief 
moment,  or  had  fulfilled  his  own  prophecy 
by  deliberately  erasing  himself  for  some  pur- 
pose known  only  to  himself,  no  one  ever 
knew.  His  country-people  shook  their  heads 
and  said  "it  was  like  a  Saltillo."  And  the 
few  among  his  retainers  who  knew  him  and 
loved  him,  whispered  still  more  ominously: 
"He  will  yet  return  to  his  land  to  confound 
the  Americanos." 

Yet  the  widow  of  Enriquez  did  not  marry 
Professor  Dobbs.  But  she  too  disappeared 
from  California,  and  years  afterward  I  was 
told  that  she  was  well  known  to  the  ingen- 
uous Parisians  as  the  usual  wealthy  widow 
"from  South  America." 


DATE  DUE 


JAN  1  9 


PRINTED  IN  U.S.A. 


3  2106  00206  9992 


